


The Last Time

by yanak324



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Dealing With Trauma, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gendry is a Baratheon, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Re-falling In Love, Sexual Tension, Side relationships that will be revealed later on, Slow Burn, coming home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2020-11-02 05:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 102,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanak324/pseuds/yanak324
Summary: After a decade away, Arya returns home. Encountering the boy she left behind is not in her plans.At least she’s always known the Gods have a funny sense of humor.





	1. kids see ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This is absolutely my baby and a piece of work I'm super excited to share. 
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to the incredible [thelandofnothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelandofnothing/pseuds/thelandofnothing) for entertaining incessant chats about this story, and convincing me to just goddamn post. 
> 
> Story title is from OAR; and each chapter will be titled after an album or song I love. The first one is stolen from Kanye West.
> 
> The characters belong to GRRM as usual. Enjoy xoxo.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Something funny, Stark?” 
> 
> “Nothing, just not surprised a Southerner like you lost a fight with a patch of ice.”

The car coming to a sudden stop jolts Arya awake. She’s barely rubbed the sleep from her eyes when she’s confronted with her Uber driver’s expectant face.

“We’re here, miss. Do you need help with your bag?”

The redheaded kid can’t be older than 18, with a round face and earnest green eyes. In the corner of his left brow is the same kind of scar Robb had from a bad fall as a kid, and Arya has to swallow back the lump in her throat before replying.

“No, that’s okay.”

She forces a smile to avoid souring his optimism, and lifts the duffle sitting next to her with ease.

It’s much lighter than it should be for the amount of time she’s been away and for how long she plans on staying.

“Thanks for the ride though.” She adds over her shoulder and then slams the car door.

The second she’s out, the cold air hits her in the face, nearly stealing her breath away. She inhales anyway, because this prickle of wind that feels like a million needles stabbing her lungs is what Winterfell is supposed to be like in October, it’s what _home_ is supposed to feel like. She’s just not used to it anymore.

Arya is instantly transported to the past, flashes of snowball fights, echoes of laughter as her siblings tackle each other to the snow-covered ground; their mother keeping a watchful eye from the front porch.

The car reverses back and drives through the gate and down the forest flanked road but Arya doesn’t even notice.

She shuts her eyes, savoring the memory like a snowflake at the tip of her tongue. If she concentrates hard enough, she swears she can hear the distinct timbre of her mother’s voice calling her to come back in.

_“Arya, Arya…”_

_“Come inside before you freeze to death…”_

When she opens her eyes again, her breath nearly catches in her throat when she spots the familiar auburn-haired figure on the front porch.

There’s a part of her, an infinitesimal part, that almost believes it’s really Catelyn Stark standing there, waving at her, but Arya has seen too much in her nearly 30 years on earth to ever be fooled like that.

Her mother is dead and has been for over a decade.

Once she remembers this fact, it’s like a switch goes off in her head. Those whimsical thoughts fade away, the blurry image of her mother quickly transforming to that of her sister.

Sansa has always been a vision, the Stark child who most resembled their mother both in beauty and temperament.

Standing there on the porch, wrapped in a soft looking shawl, Sansa represents the last true vestige of home; an embodiment of the memories Arya’s fought hard to suppress. Ones that create a sense of urgency that she hasn’t felt in far too long.

Her feet carry her forward of their own accord and the smile that stretches her lips is for once not her usual half-smirk, but an honest to Gods grin.

Arya doesn’t even realize she’s dropped her duffle bag until she’s engulfing her older sister in a tight hug.

The usually prim and proper redhead lets out a very unladylike yelp but her arms wrap just as firmly around her sister. Arya relishes in the warmth of the embrace, soaking up as much comfort as she can before the inevitable questions start pouring in.

Sansa surprises her when they pull apart, taking one look at her, and wordlessly ushering her inside. It’s only when they step through the threshold that Arya realizes the extent of the ruin permeating her childhood home.

The massive staircase with its fresh coat of varnish and embellished railing looks out of place in the barren foyer with its unpolished and uneven floor.

A glance to the sitting area to the right reveals semi charred walls and several dusty tarps covering the furniture that Arya assumes had survived the fire. Whatever warmth she had felt dissipates as she’s confronted with the damage.

Her heart sinks further when she spots the guilt coloring Sansa’s expression as she stands with her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

“We thought it made sense to start with the areas that had the most function. The foyer and that room are next.”

Arya absolutely hates the way her sister looks at her with so much remorse, when she’s the one who has had to deal with all of this.

“That makes sense. There’s no rush, right?”

Something indecipherable passes across Sansa’s face, something Arya can’t quite pinpoint, but it’s fleeting and then she’s being pushed towards the kitchen.

“C’mon, you must be starving.”

Arya doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she’s more tired than anything. Not when it’s so evident that her sister just really wants to fuss over her.

They step into the kitchen and her jaw drops slightly. Catelyn Stark would be impressed by the changes, the huge marble island, the wrap-around counter, the industrial sized stove. There’s even a breakfast nook in the corner, with a view to the front yard, which Arya is certain was not there before.

“I know, right?” Sansa practically beams at her as she fills the kettle with water and sets it on the stove, “is it wrong that even though I have an office upstairs, I spend most of my time here?”

It’s then that Arya notices the open laptop on the table, the stack of notepads and files arranged perfectly next to an ancient looking pen holder that she’s pretty sure used to be in her father’s study.

She looks away, not trusting herself to hide the mess of emotions that the holder elicits.

“Not at all. I don’t even cook and I’d want to spend all my time here. It’s really beautiful, Sansa. You did an amazing job.”

“Thank you. I’ve had help.”

The comment is quite at odds with the silence around them. It feels like no one else has been in this house for quite some time, but Arya chooses not to pry. She’s been away for far too long to make demands of anyone, Sansa most of all.

“I’m sure you were the mastermind behind it all,” she compliments instead, and it’s not forced at all, which is why it’s weird that Sansa looks almost guilty?

Arya doesn’t have time to contemplate it, as Sansa points to a chair at the table, and then a few minutes later sets a plate of something that smells absolutely mouth-watering in front of her.

She takes a seat across from Arya, cradling a mug of tea as she silently motions for Arya to eat.

Arya doesn’t argue. The defiance she used to wear like a shield in her youth is no longer there. The fight has seeped out of her, replaced by a dull ache that has only now in her sister’s presence begun to lift.

She picks up her fork and takes a bite, then another, and another.

The more she eats, the hungrier she becomes, until the plate is nearly empty and Sansa is peering over the rim of her mug in amusement.

“You might want to slow down,” she suggests with a smirk, but Arya just shrugs as she shoves another forkful into her mouth, “can’t. It’s mom’s recipe, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Sansa nods, suddenly finding interest in the contents of her mug.

Arya feels a sharp stab of pain in her belly – it might be how quickly she’s inhaled her food but probably not. She wonders if there will ever be a time when the mention of either of their parents won’t cast a dark cloud over the moment.

It’s just not fair, not fair at all how quickly their family disintegrated. She instantly searches for ways to make her sister smile again.

“I put my apartment up for sale.”

That does the trick.

“You did?”

“Yup,” she replies, finally setting her fork down.

“So you’re here for good then?”

She tries unsuccessfully to suppress the twinge of anxiety that flares at the hopeful expression on Sansa’s face. It’s been way too long since she’s laid down roots anywhere.

Sure, she had an apartment but it never really felt like home. It was more like a storage space, and somewhere to rest and regroup between assignments. It makes her feel just a tad claustrophobic, thinking about being in one place for the foreseeable future, especially one that carries so much weight with it, so many memories that threaten to unravel her at every turn.

But maybe that’s exactly why she needs to be here. If for nothing else, then for her sister, for what’s left of the Starks.

“Looks that way.” Arya confirms finally, trying not to dwell on it too much.

She’s so focused on trying to process the commitment she has inadvertently made that she nearly misses the odd look that falls across Sansa’s face again.

This time, it doesn’t pass as quickly and upon further inspection, Arya realizes that it’s doubt coloring her sister’s usually unflappable expression. Maybe also a little fear.

She’s about to probe her on why, not willing to let it go again, but it appears she doesn’t have to.

“I have to tell you something.”

Arya is fully intent on listening, she even gestures for her sister to continue, but she’s seated with a direct view of the front yard. At first, she’s purely curious as she spots a black pick-up truck drive through the gate and park besides Sansa’s sedan.

Then her curiosity turns into sheer disbelief and her throat nearly closes up as she watches someone familiar, someone _way too familiar _ exit the driver’s seat and begin to unload items from the truck bed.

It’s really a coincidence that when Arya looks to Sansa for an explanation, her sister says the only words that could rattle her more than the ghost she’s just seen.

“What the hell is Gendry Waters doing here?”

“Arya, I’m pregnant.”

xxx

“It’s actually Baratheon now.” Sansa says quietly, ever so quietly as she follows Arya’s line of sight.

Arya doesn’t say anything, can’t really formulate any words at the moment.

“He’s been overseeing the restoration,” Sansa adds but Arya barely registers it.

Her eyes eventually tear away from the window, and the way Sansa lays a protective hand over her belly snaps Arya into focus. She suddenly remembers that there are more important things to deal with than the maelstrom of emotion spurred by seeing Gendry <strike>Waters</strike> Baratheon for the first time in ten fucking years.

“How far along are you?”

“About three months. It’s wild, isn’t it?”

Sansa is practically beaming as she says this, and Arya can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips.

If she thinks about it, it’s not wild at all. Sansa has had years of experience caring for their family. With their parents and Robb gone, she took on the matriarch role with fortitude and grace.

She stayed, while Arya ran. This kid is about to be the luckiest in all of Westeros.

The thought pulls on her heart strings in a way she hadn’t expected. Children have never been on her radar, an ephemeral thought here and there. Something that never quite felt realistic. Sansa, on the other hand, she was born to be mom, and after everything she’s been through, she deserves this.

Unprompted, Arya gets up and pulls her older sister into a fierce hug.

“You’re going to be amazing,” she whispers into auburn locks, feeling a surge of protectiveness over both Sansa and the child who has yet to give any physical sign of its existence.

Arya can feel it though. Another Stark will be born. Their pack will not go extinct.

The realization only widens the smile on her face as she continues to embrace her sister. It dims slightly when she spots Gendry again, unloading what looks like buckets of paint from the truck.

He used to be pack too, she thinks, and then freezes when something else crosses her mind.

Maybe he’s still pack, maybe he and Sansa…

She tries to school her expression into something manageable, something that won’t give away the particular dread she suddenly feels, but Sansa has always been able to read her well. In this instance, Arya is grateful for it.

“The father is not in the picture for the time being, and with Bran down in King’s Landing, it’s been nice to have Gendry and his crew coming in and out of here. Makes it less lonely in such a huge house.”

She shouldn’t feel as relieved as she does, but there’s a lot she shouldn’t be feeling when it comes to the man still moving between his truck and the garage.

“That’s nice of him.”

Arya feels a little exposed under Sansa’s shrewd stare.

“Yes, it is.” Her sister agrees and takes a leisurely sip of tea. Arya knows a question is in the offing, can practically see it forming on her sister’s lips.

And she’s not ready to give her any answers.

“Arya, what-…”

“I should go unpack.”

Their eyes lock, and Sansa decides not to push.

“Of course, your room is exactly as you left it.”

Arya doesn’t miss the sympathetic look that passes across Sansa’s face, but she’s good at pretending, always has been.

There’s one thing she can’t fake though, and that’s the joy she feels for her sister.

“I’m really happy for you, Sans.”

Her sister smiles appreciatively.

“Thank you, Arya. And thank you for coming home.”

“We’re pack. It’s what we do, right?”

It slips out of her without much thought, but she doesn’t regret it, because it’s the truth.

“Right.” Sansa nods, eyes turning just a little wistful, just a little sad. Arya decides that’s her cue to go.

She barely makes it to the second-floor landing before she hears the front door open and Gendry call out to her sister.

Although she’s completely alone, Arya still finds herself pretending that it doesn’t matter.

Too bad she can’t fool herself as well as she can fool others.

xxx

_ The car jerks forward yet again, pulling a growl of frustration from her._

_They’ve barely gone a meter. This is so, so dumb, she’s never going to learn. Her hands slam on the wheel a little too aggressively._

_“Whoa, easy there. It’s alright. Just try not to step on the clutch too hard.” _

_She wants to be annoyed but it’s hard when his voice is so calm, so understanding. Instead, she just feels defeated, can’t even muster the will to be snarky._

_“Don’t worry about it. Learning how to drive a stick shift is hard. I nearly drove the car into a ditch the first time I tried.” _

_“At least you moved.” she mumbles, knuckles turning white from how tightly she grips the wheel._

_Gendry chuckles lightly from besides her. Before she can tell him to stop laughing, he gently wraps his much larger hand around her wrist and moves it back onto the stick shift. _

_“Try again.” He says softly, somewhere between a command and a suggestion._

_Arya really wishes he wouldn’t be so goddamn patient with her. It reminds her of her father, who should actually be the one sharing this milestone with her. And if not him, then Robb or even her mother, but no. _

_None of them can teach her how to drive, because they’re dead. _

_Dead and buried, and with Jon so far away, Gendry is the one who has to deal with her useless self. _

_What’s the fucking point anyway. _

_Oh yeah. With Sansa trying to finish school while also figuring out how to keep their family from going bankrupt somebody has to drive Bran to and from his physical therapy appointments. _

_That thought pulls Arya out of her self-pitying stupor. Not all of her family is dead, and her little brother needs her, so she needs to get her shit together._

_She presses her foot much more lightly on the clutch pedal while guiding the shift to the next gear, and whoa…_

_The car still jerks forward but it’s definitely smoother; there’s definitely progress. Before she knows it, Arya is turning to her right, grinning in spite of herself._

_Gendry’s eyes crinkle as he returns her smile and clasps her lightly on the shoulder, the weight of his palm is steadying and encouraging. _

_“There you are, now go again.” _

_xxx_

Arya’s not sure what wakes her, hadn’t even realized she’d fallen asleep, but she’s glad to be awake.

The dream she had is too much like a memory she hasn’t thought about in years.

It was so vivid, she feels the phantom weight of Gendry’s hand on her shoulder.

She nearly shivers as another memory comes to her unbidden.

That same hand pressing firmly into her hip, soft lips on her neck...

A tap on the door forces her to sit up, pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes as she mumbles, “come in.”

In the few seconds it takes for her door to open, she briefly entertains the idea that it might be Gendry coming to see her, but it’s unlikely.

In the weeks she’s been back in Winterfell, she’s only seen him a few times and always from a distance; never close enough for him to spot her. She’s just not ready for that, not yet anyway.

Her relief is palpable when Sansa enters her bedroom.

“Hey, did I wake you?”

“Yeah but it’s okay, what’s up?”

"Thought you might like to have some dinner. I’m going to cook your favorite.”

Arya turns to the nightstand and realizes that she’s slept well into the afternoon. The curtains in her room are shut but she imagines that dusk has fallen across Winterfell, sun disappearing beneath the snow-capped tree line.

Promises of that view along with a home cooked meal leaves Arya more invigorated than she expected. She gets up and stretches.

“Lead the way, sis.”

xxx

“So, are we going to talk about it?”

Sansa asks as she uncorks a bottle of wine and pours Arya a glass she insisted she doesn’t need.

“Talk about what?”

“Why you’re so keen on avoiding Gendry.”

On second thought, the wine might come in handy for this conversation.

Yes, Arya has made herself pretty scarce whenever Gendry is on the property – which is a lot – but she wouldn’t call it avoidance per se. Self-perseveration is more like it. She doubts Sansa will buy that.

“I’ll tell you why I’m avoiding him if you tell me who the father is.”

Sansa levels her with a gaze that says, ‘nice try,’ but Arya immediately sees through it.

It’s obvious her sister wants to tell her but, for whatever reason, won’t. Sansa is one of the few people Arya trusts implicitly, so she has to believe that reason is good enough.

“Fine, but then I’m saying nothing.”

Arya shrugs, feeling a little smug, which is dangerous because one really shouldn’t let their guard down around people who know them best.

That was one of the first lessons Arya learned in training and it’s a shame she forgets that in this moment.

"Well, that’s too bad,” Sansa says as she walks over to the cupboard and retrieves another glass, “because he’s coming for dinner tonight.”

"He’s what?” Arya nearly spits out her wine mid-gulp and Sansa shrugs innocently at her.

“You can’t avoid him forever and besides, Wednesday nights are our standing dinner dates so technically you’re the one whose crashing.”

For the first time since she been back, Arya feels annoyed at her sister.

It’s so like Sansa to think she knows what’s best for her. It had been one of the main reasons they fought as children, and then as young adults, when Sansa disapproved of Arya’s career choices.

They’d worked past those differences but now Arya feels that irritation spike.

“Then maybe I should leave.” She says with much more steel than expected, but Sansa isn’t easily intimidated.

“You can,” Sansa agrees, but they both know Arya’s not going anywhere.

She might be prone to run when things get tough but once she’s in the thick of it, she doesn’t willingly back down. Despite the quickly forming knot in her stomach, Arya stays put.

She’s facing away from the doorway but knows the precise moment Gendry steps into the kitchen by the way the hair on the back of her neck stands up.

Arya could always tell when he was nearby, most likely because his eyes would always find their way to her. It seems like time hasn’t changed that, and in the proximity of the kitchen, she can’t avoid him forever.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Arya turns around and locks eyes with the man who has haunted her dreams many, many times in the years they’ve spent apart.

The first thought that crosses her mind is how good he looks.

Gendry’s always been attractive. Tall, tanned, with crystal blue eyes, and dark hair, but now there’s a certain ruggedness about him. Even beneath the thick coat he’s wearing, she can tell he’s more filled out in the shoulders, and though his hair is closely cropped, he’s sporting a noticeable beard, which only serves to punctuate the sharpness of his jaw.

All in all, he just looks more mature, more like the man she’d only had glimpses of the last time she saw him. The one thing that hasn’t changed about him are his eyes. They still retain their boyish charm. The longer they stare at each other, the more amused Gendry’s expression grows.

“Oh my god, Gen. What happened to your face?”

Sansa’s voice forces Arya to look away, and it’s then that she notices the angry bruise running from Gendry’s left temple to the top of his cheekbone.

He looks down at the floor for a second, clearly chastened.

“Slipped on some ice,” he mumbles, and Arya can’t help her snort.

“Something funny, Stark?” Gendry’s eyes shoot up to lock on hers again, but there’s not a hint of anger there.

In fact, there’s not even a trace of it in his entire demeanor and it startles her. Arya hadn’t even realized she was so afraid of seeing him, because she didn’t want to confront how much he would hate her. Didn’t want confirmation that he wanted nothing to do with her after how she left things between them. Gendry carries none of the vitriol she expected, and she relaxes instantly.

“Nothing, just not surprised a Southerner like you lost a fight with a patch of ice.”

Gendry opens his mouth to speak but then thinks better of it, choosing instead to step into the room and set the bottle of wine he’d brought onto the counter, very close to where Arya is lounging on the bar stool.

Out of the corner of her, she can see Sansa looking triumphantly at both of them, but she can’t find it in herself to care, because it’s good to see Gendry.

It’s _ always good _ to see him.

The thought takes her aback, familiar feelings bubbling up to the surface and rendering her unable to really do much except watch as Gendry tops off her glass before pouring the remainder for himself.

All the while still looking – and _ smiling _ \- at her.

Gods, she is so fucked.

xxx


	2. what you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hits Gendry how much he’s missed her, missed bantering with her, missed her sharp wit. It’s always been so easy with her. This part, at least. 
> 
> But calling anything with Arya easy would be misleading. She’s by far the most complicated woman he’s ever met, and he would do well to remember that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely overwhelmed by the feedback to just the first chapter. Thank you to everyone who has made an effort to leave a kudos, bookmark, and tell me what you think. I always say that this is the fiercest and mightiest fandom I've ever been a part of and it's so true. I'll be alternating POVs, so this is Gendry's perspective on the epic reunion. Also, I'd like to just reinforce how much of a Gendrya shipper Sansa is in this story. In case there were any doubts, she is the captain of this ship. That is all. Chapter title taken from Two Door Cinema Club, who puts on an epic live show, so highly recommend. As always, I own nothing. Enjoy <3

Gendry thought he was done with life’s surprises. He figured the last few years had earned him a reprieve of sorts.

Yet, sitting across from Arya in the Stark Manor dining room, one that he helped restore, quickly disabuses him of the notion that life is done fucking with him.

Gendry knows he should be more pissed off. In fact, ever since Sansa told him that the prodigal daughter finally returned home, he has avoided Arya. Mostly because every time he’s thought of her, he’s felt that familiar Baratheon fury start to rise, making him irrationally angry.

He’s worked so hard not to resort to rage as his primary coping mechanism and he refuses to let Arya bloody Stark of all people upend all his progress. 

So yeah, he’d been prepared to be completely cold towards her when Sansa begged him to come to dinner. He’d planned to carry on as usual and spend the evening paying attention to the Stark sister who didn’t make his blood boil.

As soon as he saw Arya though, his carefully laid plan went belly up. Indifference quickly morphed into something else entirely. Relief.

Relief that she’s alive, that she is here, that she had somehow found her way home again.

He doesn’t know much about her job, has never really probed Sansa for specifics, but working for the Westerosi Intelligence Unit in any capacity, let alone as an undercover asset, isn’t exactly a safe desk job. Not that Arya would ever have a desk job, but still.

Once upon a time, she was a big part of his life – the biggest he’d argue – and so Gendry doesn’t begrudge himself the relief he feels at seeing her alive and whole.

He just wishes he’d stop fucking staring.

She looks good, like _ really good._

Her hair is longer, falling against the elegant slope of her neck in choppy waves that his fingers itch to touch.

She’s thinner than he remembers, but her skin is still luminous, especially in the dim lighting. The way she occasionally pulls her pale pink lip between her teeth sends his mind into a tailspin.

All those factors combined make it really hard to look away from her, especially when Arya keeps sending surreptitious looks his way just as frequently.

At least Gendry knows he’s not alone in being uncertain about their situation. Though, he’s not sure how much comfort that should bring him.

He’s learned his lesson about going toe to toe with Arya Stark a long time ago.

He always loses.

The evening goes by pleasantly enough.

There are only a few awkward moments, like when Sansa leaves them at the table to get something from the kitchen. She won’t let either of them help her, and so he and Arya are left alone, both amused by her authoritarianism.

“She’ll make a great mom.”

He finally breaks the silence, and too late realizes that he might’ve just betrayed Sansa’s trust. His worry is obsolete though as Arya’s smirk transforms into a genuine smile.

“Yeah, she will, except I hope she’s less militant about dinner etiquette.”

“Unlikely,” Gendry snorts, and his heart shouldn’t seize like it does when Arya grins in agreement.

“You’re probably right. Guess I’ll have to stick around then, make sure this kid’s well rounded.”

“You mean make sure he or she knows how to get into trouble?”

“And out of it.” She raises her eyebrow at him, lips tugged into a mischievous smirk.

It hits Gendry then how much he’s missed her, missed bantering with her. It’s always been so easy with her. This part, at least.

But calling anything with Arya easy would be misleading. She’s by far the most complicated woman he’s ever met, and he would do well to remember that.

“So, you’re back then, uh, for a while?”

He hates how his voice breaks just a little, but Arya doesn’t seem to notice, or more accurately, chooses to ignore it.

“Yeah, for the foreseeable future.”

She looks up at him then, gaze unwavering, as if she wants him to know that she is telling the truth. Gendry tries really hard to ignore how his heart flutters with hope.

It’s a dangerous thing though, hope, especially when it comes to the woman across from him. It makes him do stupid things, like keep pushing when he shouldn’t.

“What about your job?”

“I think it might be time for something new.”

Something dark passes across her features, and Gendry immediately knows there’s more to the story.

He decides not to probe further, choosing instead to intercept Sansa as she walks into the room. He wrestles the tea tray she’s carrying out of her hands, and Sansa huffs but doesn't fight him on it, returning to the kitchen for the pie.

Gendry doesn’t miss the way Arya traces his movements with a look of mild awe. He tells himself it’s because she’s seen very few people actually stand up to her sister.

Yup, that’s exactly it.

xxx

Even though the dinner is not a complete disaster, Gendry still avoids areas of the mansion where Arya might be.

He delays work on the last bedroom on the second floor for as long as possible.

His crew, a couple local guys he’s contracted out independently, is already fast at work on the rooms downstairs and it’s really not a four-person job, so early one morning Gendry finds himself in the bedroom sandwiched between the master suite and Arya’s room.

Since he’s pretty sure this is going to be the nursery, he’s meticulous as he measures the walls, recording them in a tiny notebook his crew back home teases him for mercilessly.

He’s so absorbed in his work, he doesn’t even notice that Sansa standing in the doorway until she speaks.

“Welcome back, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Funny.” He turns around, tucking the pencil he was using behind his ear.

Sansa smiles knowingly at him, and he nearly rolls his eyes at her. But she extends a mug of what smells like coffee, and whatever snarky remark he had planned dies on his lips. 

It’s fucking freezing this morning, and he could definitely use the warmth, if not the caffeine.

“Thank you,” he says, inhaling the scent once more and taking a sip.

“You’re welcome.”

Sansa mirrors him and sips from her own mug, some sort of herbal concoction if Gendry had to guess. She’d never been a big coffee fan and had given it up altogether when she found out she was pregnant.

Sansa walks the perimeter of the room, running her fingers across the barren walls. This room wasn’t as badly damaged in the fire, but the smoke still found its way here, ruining most of the furniture and singing the wallpaper off.

“What have you got planned for this room?”

Gendry is momentarily stumped by the question. He’s always admired Sansa’s ability to figure out exactly how to use a space. Her knack for recognizing the artistic potential of slightly damaged things is what ultimately made them click in school and why she is such a successful interior decorator…

“Well,” Gendry starts, deciding to just trust his gut, “I was thinking yellow for the walls, light wood for the furniture, and maybe I can get Lem to paint some animals along that side?”

He gestures to the wall behind Sansa, but she doesn’t follow his line of sight, continuing to stare at him with mild surprise.

“I read that yellow is a good gender-neutral color for a nursery, and I figured you wouldn’t want to wait another two months to start decorating.”

Sansa keeps looking at him, and it makes him uncomfortable, makes him question if he was completely off base. But then, she’s walking towards him and pulling him into a one-armed hug, and he tentatively wraps his arms around her, feeling very relieved.

“You have officially one-upped me on the friend scale.” She says, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Gendry knows this is partially hormonal, has seen both his half-sisters go through pregnancies, but Sansa is different.

She’s the family he’d willingly chosen, not the other way around. All the Starks are, he thinks somewhat bitterly, trying not to think about gray eyes and perfectly arched eyebrows.

“I hadn’t even thought that far,” she admits with a certain amount of chagrin.

“That’s what a contractor is for.” Gendry reminds her teasingly, but Sansa doesn’t take the bait, leaning in to hug him again and whisper thank you into his neck.

That’s how Arya finds them. By the looks of it, she’s just woken up and is probably on her way to the bathroom.

Gendry tries not to fixate on the way the threadbare t-shirt she’s wearing - the only piece of clothing she’s wearing – barely skims her thighs.

Her eyes blink sleepily at them before growing wide in recognition.

“Oh, morning!” Sansa greets her a bit over enthusiastically, perhaps to distract from the tear tracks on her face.

Gendry learned a long time ago that Arya sees everything; she just chooses to ignore certain things. In this case, it’s her sister’s emotional state.

Arya, however, chooses not to ignore him, and steps further into the room. He almost tells her that she has no business walking in here with bare feet, bare feet and naked, very naked legs but he bites his tongue, taking a sip of coffee instead.

“Whatcha working on here?” She asks casually and before Gendry can stop her, Sansa nearly squeals.

“This is going to be the nursery, as per the baby’s godfather’s suggestion.” She shoots him a smile, but he just purses his lips and looks down at the floor.

It’s still surreal that Sansa asked him to serve this very important role in her unborn child’s life, and he feels the tips of his ears grow pink beneath the gazes of both Stark sisters.

“Godfather, huh?” He looks up to find Arya smirking in his direction, but there’s something else there too. She looks almost pleased.

“Cool.”

She turns to go then but stops to address her sister.

“Hey, do you mind giving me a ride to town? Don’t know how long it’ll take for my boxes to ship here and I should probably stop sleeping in something with this many holes.”

There is in fact a giant tear in the material right below her collarbone and Gendry has to look away immediately, before his expression betrays his thoughts.

“Oh I gotta go meet a client.” Sansa frowns initially, stealing a glance at her watch. Then, she turns to Gendry and smiles conspiratorially, “but Gendry can take you, right?”

Her expression tells him that now is the time to agree with her. He does, despite his misgivings about the situation.

“Sure.”

Arya isn’t as obedient and narrows her eyes at Sansa. Very quickly, however, she seems to lose whatever stalemate they’ve engaged in and then she’s looking at him with only a twinge of hesitation.

“Okay, let me just go get dressed.”

“Yeah, take your time.” He calls lamely after her, thinking it an excellent idea that she put more clothes on.

When he and Sansa are alone again, he fixes her with a look that conveys his displeasure at being cornered. His closest friend merely shrugs and practically glides out of the room.

Gendry gulps down the rest of his coffee and glances up at the ceiling, asking the Seven to give him strength.

With two Stark women in his vicinity, he’s pretty sure he’s going to need it.

xxx

Gendry loves his truck.

It’s big, it’s functional, and best of all, it warms up quickly; a necessity this far up North. He’s not a fan of the cold, never has been, and refuses to believe that anyone can ever get used to it.

As if to prove him wrong, Arya chooses that moment to slide into the passenger seat in nothing on but ripped jeans and a far too thin jacket.

At least she has a massive scarf wrapped around her neck, but that does little to put Gendry at ease. It’s not his place to say anything, not anymore, so he simply cranks up the heat and asks her if she’s ready to go.

Arya nods and then turns away to look out the window. Her expression is unreadable but it’s pretty clear that she’s not too pleased to be stuck with him and has zero interest in making conversation.

Well, that’s fine with him. He prefers silence anyway these days.

He can’t help but steal glances at her from time to time, though. They haven’t been in such close proximity since she came back, and his eyes keep turning to her, some part of his brain not quite believing she’s real.

She’s different, there’s no doubt about it. Then again, who wouldn’t be after this many years.

When he’d seen her last, she’d barely been an adult, and already an orphan, caring for a crippled brother and trying to make sense of that much tragedy, and yet…

Gendry tries not to think about that time, about how foolish he had been to think that amidst all that pain and loss, they had found something special together, something lasting, something worth staying for.

He thought he had let go of that bitterness, had accepted that it wasn’t meant to be and let her go.

The way his eyes unwillingly flicker over to his surly passenger every chance he gets suggests otherwise. It sours his mood.

“Stop scowling.”

He doesn’t even know how Arya noticed considering she hasn’t looked at him once, but it’s Arya, and it’s entirely possible she has eyes on the back of her head.

“I’m not-“

He opens his mouth to protest but then thinks better of it, especially when she turns her gray eyes on him.

“It’s fine, I wouldn’t want to be around me either, if I were you.”

In that moment, Gendry realizes what it is about her that is so different now.

Arya looks sad. And not the temporary kind of sadness, but rather the kind that roots deep into your bones and doesn’t let you go.

He’s no stranger to that kind of pain, knows Arya isn’t either, but his heart sinks at the realization that it’s not his place anymore to help her, or even care for that matter.

She made that clear when she decided to leave. Yet, his mind still goes there, still takes him down memory lane despite his best efforts.

xxx

_ He glances at the dashboard clock again, just to be sure he hasn’t missed her._

_Her text said she’d be arriving on the 2:20pm train from Harrenhal. It’s now 2:38pm and there’s still no sign of her. _

_Gendry wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans as a sense of dread washes over him. _

_What if she changed her mind? What if she spotted him and decided that all of this was too much? That she couldn’t deal with everything waiting for her back home? _

_Dread quickly morphs into anger and frustration, mind reeling with all the possibilities. It would be so like her to shirk responsibility, to disappear without a trace like she did two years prior._

_She hadn’t told anyone where she was going, leaving her mother and siblings – and him – worried sick for months. She had eventually written to Catelyn, letting her know she was safe but did not plan on coming back. She never once tried to contact him, no matter how many Facebook messages and e-mails he sent her. _

_Maybe what he’s really feeling is guilt. Maybe if he had gone with her like she’d asked, but no –_

_His life had been upended by the accident too and unlike her, he didn’t have the luxury of dropping everything and running away. No, he decided to stay and he won’t apologize for it. _

_Just as he’s convinced himself that he has nothing to feel guilty about, Arya appears on the sidewalk. One minute he’s trying to find her in the crowd, and the next, she’s sliding into the passenger seat, dropping a small backpack by her feet. _

_Their eyes lock as soon as she faces him, and there’s a moment when neither says anything. _

_Gendry feels paralyzed almost, unable to do anything but take her in, catalogue the minor changes that immediately signal to his brain that she’s no longer a child. She’s a young woman in every sense of the word. _

_Her eyes grab him the most. He doesn’t remember Arya ever looking so lost, so sad. There’s a trace of unshed tears blurring the usually clear and vivid gray orbs. Before he knows it, Gendry’s unsnapping his seat belt and reaching for her. _

_The way she goes so willingly into the fold of his arms is deeply indicative of her grief. There’s no other way she’d be this open, this vulnerable, even with him._

_It hits Gendry hard, how much he wants to fix this for her, to bring her mother and brothers back, and her father too for that matter. _

_But it’s beyond his control. _

_All he can do is be there for her now, and as her arms tighten around his neck, Gendry silently vows that he will. _

xxx 

It’s probably that memory, so fresh on his mind, that has Gendry telling Arya that he has errands of his own to run downtown and that he’ll meet her at a local coffee shop in two hours. 

He’s dangerously overcaffeinated by the time Arya meets him, but the way she smiles at him when he drops her off later absolutely makes it worth it. 

xxx


	3. all my friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya expects the memory to sting but it doesn’t, and a lot of that has to do with the man sleeping in front of her. Who knows how her night might have gone had Gendry not decided to keep her company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know writers aren't supposed to have favorites, but this was *absolutely* my favorite chapter to write. As a quick warning, there is drug use in this chapter, but otherwise it's mostly trigger free :) The song title belongs to The Revivalists, and as always, I don't own the characters. 
> 
> Big thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, bookmarking, or even silently flailing. This chapter is dedicated to [thelandofnothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelandofnothing/pseuds/thelandofnothing) for her undying support and willingness to reread my stuff until the perfectionist in me is satisfied. Enjoy!!

_ “Happy birthday.” _

_She’s doing paperwork – her least favorite activity – when a black package appears in front of her followed by her partner. He drops into the chair opposite hers, and throws his legs up, much to Arya’s chagrin. _

_“Get your feet off my desk, Clegane.” She says almost entirely out of habit. _

_They have this conversation at least once a day. Sometimes once an hour, depending on how annoying he wants to be. _

_“Is this how you say thank you?” he scowls through the toothpick stuck between his teeth. _

_He looks like he’s ready to crush her with his bare hands, but Arya learned a long time ago that at least when it comes to her, Sandor Clegane is way more bark than any real bite. _

_As can be evidenced by the birthday present he just unceremoniously dropped on her desk. _

_“How’d you even know it was my birthday?”_

_In truth, she herself, had forgotten until about half way through the morning when Sansa had texted her. The number of balloon emojis that accompanied her message initially annoyed Arya, but as they kept texting, all it did was make her feel warm, warm like only family can make you feel. _

_It also made her homesick, so Arya vowed to bury herself in paperwork for the rest of the day. Then she planned to spend some quality time with the punching bag at the gym until she was too exhausted to do anything other than pass out. _

_“Don’t be stupid, girl. Partners gotta know shit about each other, helps with the job.” _

_She rolls her eyes. After nearly a year of working together, it’s a reflex more than anything. _

_“How is my birthday relevant to the job?” _

_Even behind the curtain of black hair, she can see Clegane roll his eyes, and she can’t help the smirk that pulls at her lips. Unlike paperwork, riling her partner up happens to be one of her favorite activities. _

_“Would you stop being such a pain in my ass and open it? Unless you don’t want it.” _

_He leans forward to take it back, but she swats his hand away. He smirks but says nothing as she tears the package open and pulls out the holster. _

_At first, Arya is confused. It’s too small for the department issue gun she reluctantly carries, and too big for any of the other gadgets she’s amassed over the years. _

_Then it dawns on her. _

_Her eyes shoot up to meet her partner’s and she swears she spots a hint of nerves._

_“It’s for that damn knife you insist on carrying everywhere with you. I figure if you’re gonna keep being dumb and bringing it with you in the field, least you can do is conceal it properly.” _

_Arya knows she should say something but she’s truly at a loss for words. If she had any hope of avoiding emotions for the rest of the day, it’s shot to hell now._

_There are only a few things she’s certain of when it comes to her partner. _

_He’s gruff, he’s secretive, and for whatever reason, she’s the only one in their division that he tolerates. _

_Adding sentimental to that list is a bit much, but there’s still something about his gesture that’s almost sweet? _

_Gods, he would absolutely punch her if he knew what she was thinking. That alone makes Arya smile as she picks up the holster and examines it. _

_It’s a good one. It’ll be easy to conceal under her clothes and is the perfect size for her beloved Catspaw. _

_“You stare at it any longer and it’ll burst into flames.” He snaps at her impatiently, and Arya realizes she hasn’t said a word since unwrapping it. She sets it down carefully and fixes all her attention on him. _

_“Thank you, Sandor.” _

_His expression is unmoving but she can tell there’s something almost soft about it, about the way he looks at her._

_It’s only a moment though, and then they’re right back to normal. _

_“Don’t call me that.” _

_“But it’s your name,” she counters._

_“Only to my friends. To you, I’m just Clegane.” He quips back. Arya can tell he’s enjoying their banter a little more now. _

_“Are we not friends?” She mock gasps, dramatically pressing her hand against her chest, “wow, that’s unnecessarily hurtful, and on my birthday too.” _

_Her lips twitch into an even bigger smile as she watches her partner heave an exasperated sigh and stand up. _

_“Oh shove it, girl. I’ll be at the range if you need me, but I sincerely hope you don’t.” _

_“Hey, since we’re friends now, can we have a sleepover later?” _

_Arya continues to goad him as he makes his way out of their joint office, openly laughing when he flicks her off. _

_She eventually turns back to her paperwork but doesn’t feel the same need to escape the day. _

_Maybe she’ll treat herself to some cake later. It’s her birthday after all. _

xxx 

Arya drops the holster right back into the box she’s unpacking. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t think about her partner, but usually those memories aren’t happy ones. 

They’re filled with chaos, sounds of gunfire, and blood. 

Gods, there was so much blood. 

When her hands start to shake, Arya steps away from the boxes altogether, trying to remember the techniques her department issued shrink recommended for dealing with what’s most certainly an oncoming panic attack. 

_Take long, deep breaths. _

_Make sure your knees aren’t locked. _

_Get some fresh air._

The last suggestion seems the most appealing and she quickly pulls on her shoes, grabs her jacket from the back of her desk chair, and flees her bedroom. 

xxx 

Arya’s just taken a long puff when the front door opens and closes. She doesn’t have to look to know exactly who it is. The crunch of his footsteps gives Gendry away. 

She could have found a more secluded place to brood but some company would be nice right now, especially when it’s in the form of her old friend.

She hasn’t seen him much since he’d given her a ride downtown, and Arya suspects it’s not all on her. He’s been wary around her, friendly but mostly staying out of her way, and she can’t blame him. 

She’s still having trouble understanding how he didn’t tell her to go fuck herself the second he had laid eyes on her again, so really she’ll take anything she can get. Even if it’s at a distance.

Still, Gendry has always managed to put her at ease, and apparently that hasn’t changed in their time apart. As soon as he sits down next to her, Arya feels herself relax.

“You know those things will kill ya.” He nods towards her fingers before shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. 

She turns to look at him and is instantly taken aback by the force of his gaze. 

Against the backdrop of the evening, this eyes seem more intense, more intrusive than usual. Briefly, Arya wonders if perhaps Gendry has chosen not to hate her because he sees right through the mask she wears; knows that she hates herself enough for the both of them. 

The thought quickly disappears as the tingling numbness start to make its way up her body. 

“Relax,” she smiles lazily, “it’s just a joint.” 

Gendry’s eyebrows shoot up, and then his face dissolves into an incredulous smile. 

“Weed? I didn’t think that could even grow so far up North.”

“I know a guy,” Arya shrugs and takes another puff. 

“’Course you do.” 

It’s actually from Bran’s stash, which he brought back from King’s Landing last time he visited, but Arya’s not about to reveal that her brother, the big-time politician, loves to get high and watch Carl Sagan’s Cosmos in his spare time. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a scandal, she ponders to herself. Maybe there are certain concessions the public will make for politicians with disabilities. Since Bran can’t fuck, maybe he can indulge in other vices. 

She snaps out of her wayward thoughts before they carry her too far down the rabbit hole and turns her attention to the man sitting next to her. 

“Want some?” 

She doesn’t actually expect Gendry to take it, but when he does, she’s relieved. Maybe this means he’ll stick around for a bit. Then, she won’t need to be alone with her thoughts again for a little longer. 

They sit in silence for a while, passing the joint back and forth, until Arya’s stomach unexpectedly growls. She whips her head to look at Gendry, only to find him trying – and failing – to suppress his laughter. 

His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are just a little ruddy from both the cold and the marijuana. When he breathes, it comes out in little puffs of air. Her desire to reach forward and capture one of them makes her giggle unexpectedly. Although Gendry couldn’t possibly know why she’s laughing, he joins her.

It strikes her then how long it’s been since she’s seen him truly laugh. The realization emboldens her, and she stands, dusting off her jeans. 

“I know for a fact that Sansa keeps an emergency box of pizza rolls stashed in the freezer.” 

Gendry is up so abruptly, he nearly stumbles, making her chuckle.

“C’mon, you bull.” 

The nickname slips out of her without thought but if Gendry is bothered by it, he gives no indication.

Arya doesn’t think twice before grabbing his arm and pulling him into the house with her. 

xxx

She’s laughing so hard, beer nearly comes out of her nose.

“Gods, I thought Tobho was going to fire me, if not also kill me. The look on his face, I’ll never forget.”

“Tobho’s face? What about my dad’s?” Arya asks while trying to catch her breath, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mortified.”

Gendry’s shoulders practically shake from laughter. 

“What about my dad?” he counters, “Imagine having ro explain to Cersei Lannister - your wife - that your bastard son was responsible for her perfect little first born being the laughing stalk of the entire high school.”

“Oh please, Joffrey deserved worse than having his irrational fear of little dogs exposed. He was always such a shit.”

Gendry’s smile wavers just a little as he takes a sip of beer.

“I was a shit too back then.”

“Only because I somehow roped you into all my shenanigans.”

It’s the truth. 

She was usually the mastermind behind most of their pranks, like sneaking Tobho’s beloved Chihuahua into Joffrey’s car when he came in for an oil change. Gendry only ever went along with it to keep an eye on her but Arya suspects he didn’t mind taking part in that particular incident. 

Still, Gendry could never say no to her, and before Arya can stop it, her mind goes there. 

And then so does her mouth.

“You don’t have to be nice to me, you know.” 

“Huh?”

She tries again, more direct this time. 

“Like I said the other day, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted nothing to do with me. If you hated me, I’d understand.”

Some part of her just really wants to know that he isn’t spending time with her out of pity; that he’s here because he wants to be. 

For his part, Gendry looks like he’s struggling with what to say. His smile has completely dropped and his eyes no longer have that dazed, relaxed quality to them. They’re more sober now, and actually kind of sad. Though not for himself, it seems.

“What’s the point?”

Arya raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve been angry many times before, over a lot of things, and it’s never gotten me anywhere so, why resort to that?”

It might be that she’s high but Arya can’t think of a single thing to say to that. Just keeps looking at him, a little dumbfounded, a little embarrassed, maybe a little of both. 

“Besides, if I started to hate you now, who would I bum weed off of?” 

It’s the lightness of his tone that tips her off. He’s giving her an out. 

She’s grateful for it, because she’s not sure she’s ready for where this conversation would take them. 

She doesn’t regret bringing it up though. Things are nowhere near what they used to be between them, and Arya isn’t really sure they’ll ever be, but it’s good to know that he is still honest with her. 

At least, that hasn’t changed. 

She’s about to tell him as much when she smells something burning. 

Gendry’s eyes widen in realization.

“Oh fuck, the pizza rolls.”

Then beer really does come out of Arya’s nose as she watches him try to salvage their burning dinner. 

As soon as Gendry’s done rescuing the baking sheet, he drapes the upper half of his body over the counter, arms and shoulders vibrating with laughter. 

That’s how Sansa finds them later, still in hysterics with a faint smell of burned cheese lingering in the air.

Her eyes glide over Gendry to land directly on Arya.

“Did you get into Bran’s stash?”

Arya just shrugs but steals a glance at Gendry, who looks positively scandalized.

“Liar.” he accuses her, but his eyes crinkle in amusement. She sticks her tongue out at him, and maybe if Sansa wasn’t boring holes into her head, Arya would do something else to tease him. 

Instead, she turns to the redhead and sticks her bottom lip out. 

“Can you feed us? We’re helpless.”

Gendry snorts from behind her. 

Sansa rolls her eyes but takes off her coat and scarf, nudging him aside to inspect the burned rolls. 

“Idiots,” she shakes her head at them but she’s smiling.

Arya takes a triumphant sip of beer, clinking her bottle against Gendry’s as he takes a seat next her.

xxx

Much later, as the credits to Mighty Python start to roll, Arya notices that Gendry has fallen asleep.

They’re sprawled on Sansa’s bed, Gendry lying across the foot while she and Sansa sit side by side against the headboard. 

It reminds Arya so much of the movie nights they used to have in King’s Landing, just the three of them, before Joffrey, before the accident, before reality came crashing down. 

She expects the memory to sting but it doesn’t, and a lot of that has to do with the man sleeping in front of her. Who knows how her night might have gone had Gendry not decided to keep her company. 

A sense of gratitude spurs her to grab a blanket from the nearby chair and throw it over him, taking extra precaution to cover his feet. 

She doesn’t even realize Sansa has noticed until her sister speaks.

“You still have feelings for him.”

It doesn’t surprise Arya as much as it should. Over the years, Sansa has learned to give her space, but her fascination with Arya’s and Gendry’s relationship has always overridden boundaries. 

Doesn’t mean Arya is going to pour her heart out. Not when she, herself, doesn’t know what the hell she feels. 

“You inferred all that from me putting a blanket on him while he’s sleeping in your bed?”

Sansa shrugs, “it’s not like Gendry and I haven’t shared a bed before.”

Arya’s eyebrows shoot up involuntarily and she realizes too late that it’s the exact reaction Sansa was aiming for. She scowls at her sister while Sansa smiles triumphantly, amused by her own joke. 

Too bad Arya doesn’t embarrass easily. She casually scoots back to lean against the headboard again. 

Sansa’s smile fades after a while, as she chases an unpopped kernel around the mostly empty bowl in her lap. 

“I’m obviously kidding. But he did stay with me for a while after…Ramsay and everything. It was really hard to be alone, and he was there for me.”

“He’s good at that.” Arya says softly, eyes flickering once more to Gendry, “he was there for me too, when Robb, mom and Rickon died. He was there.” 

“And you left anyway.” 

She doesn’t expect the accusation in Sansa’s tone, nor the sharpness of her gaze. It makes her question whether her sister’s quiet suspicion has been for Gendry’s benefit all along. 

After all, it was Sansa who befriended Gendry first, Sansa who brought him into Arya’s life and who he had leaned on when Arya ran…both times. 

The idea that Sansa thinks Arya might hurt Gendry again makes her feel worse than anything has in a long time. It makes her stomach curl with nausea, mostly because she thinks it too. If she couldn’t give him what he needed back then, then what can she really offer him now? 

Except Gendry hasn’t asked anything of her yet, and she didn’t come home looking for him. Life had thrown them together again by sheer happenstance. It could mean nothing, or it could mean everything. Either way, Arya has no intention of leaving.

She won’t abandon her pack ever again. None of them. 

The realization clears some of the cobwebs from her mind and she squares her shoulders as she puts a hand on Sansa’s knee. 

“I know I haven’t been there in the past, but I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Especially not with this little wolf coming. Okay?” 

She gestures towards Sansa’s belly – she’s starting to show just a little bit – and her sister’s reaction is both surprising and oddly touching. 

There’s a smile on Sansa’s face but she also seems to be holding back tears. 

“Okay,” she places a much softer hand on top of Arya’s, “that’s all I ask.” 

It’s so direct, so honest, Arya can’t help her own swell of emotions, which can’t be blamed on hormones at all. If Sansa can be so understanding, maybe there’s hope for her after all. 

Maybe that means one day Gendry will forgive her too. 

In a rare display of affection – and one she’ll vehemently deny ‘til her death – Arya scoots closer and tucks herself into Sansa’s side.

The comfortable position paired with the rhythmic sounds of Gendry’s breathing eventually lull her to sleep. Right before Arya drifts off, she wonders when she started to think of him as pack again.

xxx


	4. everybody lost somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya throws her head back in laughter, and Gendry’s brain short circuits. She looks so beautiful like that, her entire face lighting up and drawing him in until everything else fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sets up a pretty big plot line and mentions a canonical character death. It also features some of my favorite dialogue in the story so far. 
> 
> As always, huge thanks to thelandofnothing for her unending support, but also to all of you who have discussed this story with me over on tumblr or through comments. It means the world to me. Chapter title is from Bleachers; and characters belong to GRRM. Thank you all for reading.

He’s enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee on a rare day off when his eyes land on the calendar tacked to the fridge.

Oh fuck. 

How is Christmas less than three weeks away? 

He remembers now the e-mail he’d gotten from his half-sister, Mya, inviting him to spend the holidays with her and her in-laws in the Vale. 

Gendry can’t think of anything he’d like to do less than spend time with his brother-in-law’s family, which is probably why he’d forgotten to reply altogether. 

His other sister, Bella, didn’t even bother. Given his lackluster stance on the holidays, she probably figured it was a long shot that Gendry would travel for them. 

She isn’t wrong. 

He’s never had good associations with this time of year. His mother had died in late fall. He’d never really felt at home with the Baratheon-Lannister clan, which meant holidays were more of an exercise in patience than anything else. 

There was the one year he spent Christmas in Winterfell. 

It had been the first one after the car accident. Sansa was determined to make it as festive as possible, and everyone, including him, had chipped in to help. It had been a bittersweet time, but the memories warm him all the same, especially when he thinks about how happy Arya had seemed then. At least as happy as she could have been while in the midst of grieving for her mother and brothers. 

The coffee sours in his gut as Gendry thinks about Arya now, and how truly different she is from the girl he used to know. 

The morning after their impromptu movie night, he’d woken up to find the Stark sisters asleep next to each other. For a brief moment, it felt like the decade hadn’t gone by at all; like they were children again, hanging out in the Stark’s mansion every chance they had. It had given Gendry the first glimmer of hope that things could one day go back to how they were before.

He’d been in the middle of draping a blanket over them when Arya had woken up. Her sleepy smile and whispered thank you almost made him reach for her. The urge to graze her cheek was too great. 

Gendry wasn’t sure – still isn’t – that he can go down that road again, even as his mind entertains the possibility. 

He’s caught himself thinking of Arya in ways he shouldn’t more than once since that morning. It doesn’t help that he knows exactly how soft her skin is, what she tastes like, how her eyes turn the color of charcoal when she gets turned on. 

Even a decade later, memories of their last few days together still haunt him, and it irks him like no other.

Arya has probably forgotten about all of it; while he’s on the verge of pining for a woman who hadn’t deemed him worthy of a goodbye. 

Feeling far less relaxed, Gendry refills his coffee and decides to shelve all thoughts of Arya aside in favor of figuring out what he’s going to do about the most important part of Christmas – the presents. 

They have to be extra good this year, especially for his nieces and nephews, who he misses more than he’d like to admit. He looks at his laptop on the kitchen counter, but the idea of online shopping makes him cringe. 

No, he needs to get out, feel the air on his face, expel some of this sudden nervous energy. He could go for a run but according to Sansa, shopping is also cardio. 

Besides, how bad can the mall really be on a weekday? 

xxx 

Pretty bad, as it turns out. 

It seems like everyone in Winterfell has the same forgetful attitude he does. Either that or they just enjoy the absolute insanity that has descended upon the only mall in town. 

Gendry feels like he’s navigating a war zone. If that war zone were filled with chattering mothers and screaming children.

The few lone shoppers he encounters appear to be just as traumatized as he is, but Gendry’s determined not to leave empty handed. 

Four stores and an hour and a half later, he drops into a corner table at the coffee shop he likes and immediately pulls his phone out to text Sansa. 

**Gendry: ** I now know exactly how you keep your figure. 

The gray dots signaling her impending reply pop up immediately. 

**Sansa:** ??? 

**Gendry:** I went Christmas shopping. 

**Sansa:** You haven’t done your shopping yet?? Gen, it’s December 5!!

He smirks. Of course, she would zero in on that. Knowing his friend, she’s probably had presents wrapped and ready to go since mid-September. 

**Gendry:** Some of us, mere mortals, don’t start thinking about Christmas the second the leaves turn yellow. 

**Sansa:** Ha. Ha. Well, now you’re paying for it. 

**Gendry:** That I am. 

He plans to put his phone away and salvage what’s left of the day, when he sees Sansa typing again.

**Sansa:** Would you, mere mortal, like to have dinner with me tonight? I know it’s not Wed, but I’ve been craving mom’s chicken for days now, and Arya hates it, so I’ll have plenty of leftovers. 

Gendry doesn’t need to think about it. 

As much as he loves the work he’s doing to restore Stark Manor, it’s been taking up a lot of his time. Between that and Sansa frontloading her clients to buffer eventual maternity leave, they haven’t seen a lot of each other recently; and he really misses his friend. 

**Gendry:** I’ll be there. 

**Sansa:** Okay, perfect. I should be home around 6. 

He sends her a thumbs up emoji and finally puts his phone away only to look up and find Arya staring straight at him from across the café. There’s a moment where neither of them does or says anything. Arya eventually smiles and raises her hand in an awkward wave.

Whatever misgivings Gendry had earlier fade away as he takes in her windblown cheeks and wide gray eyes. He returns her smile eagerly and points to the empty seat across from him. 

Arya shrugs off whatever tension she was carrying and walks over to sit down, her shopping bags colliding with his under the table. 

“Looks like we had the same idea.” 

He says by way of greeting and Arya laughs lightly as she leans back and stretches. Gendry is suddenly glad she’s wearing more than a t-shirt.

“Yeah, I woke up this morning and realized oh shit, it’s so close to Christmas and Sansa might actually kill me if I don’t contribute to the mountain of presents we already have under the tree.” 

She says this with her patent eye roll, but Gendry doesn’t even notice; his mind is trying not to get stuck on how similar he and Arya are, even down to the mundane. 

They’re different in more significant ways though, he thinks somewhat bitterly. 

“Little did we know that half of Winterfell would also be here.”

“Right?” Arya immediately leans forward, eyes suddenly animated, “I think it would be a missed opportunity if Westorosi Intelligence doesn’t start recruiting stay-at-home mothers. They would make excellent field agents.” 

Gendry smirks around the rim of his coffee cup, “definitely where tenacity is concerned. Not so much on the stealth front.” 

Arya throws her head back in laughter, and Gendry’s brain short circuits. She looks so beautiful like that, her entire face lighting up and drawing him in until everything else fades away. A bomb could go off outside and Gendry doesn’t think he’d notice. 

Her laughter eventually subsides and her eyes turn serious again as she fiddles with a sugar packet on the table. He’s about to open his mouth to fill the silence when she speaks. 

“Do you have plans for the rest of the day?” 

Gendry knows he should say no, but there’s really no way he’s turning Arya down if she wants to hang out. 

“No, you?” 

Arya hesitates, as if she’d expected him to say yes. 

“Fancy a walk? There’s a nice park nearby.” 

It sounds like the perfect antidote to the crowds he’s just experienced, and Gendry nods without much thought. He finishes the rest of his drink in one long pull and gets up. 

“After you, milady.” 

It says something that Arya doesn’t immediately punch him for resurrecting that particular nickname. 

xxx 

The park is really a forest, and nearby is actually a 30-minute walk away, but the air is fresh and there’s not a soul around them. All the tension Gendry’s been carrying ebbs away the further away they walk from civilization. 

He vaguely remembers driving past this specific part of town but has never been inside the woods. 

Arya, on the other hand, walks with the confidence of someone who has been here many times before. She really is a child of the wilderness, Gendry thinks, as he treks behind her, admiring the snow-capped trees lining their path. 

They walk in companionable silence for so long, he almost misses when Arya abruptly stops and turns to look at him. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

She looks nervous, worrying her lip between her teeth. Gendry feels a keen sense of dread wash over him.

“Sure.” 

“Can you tell me about the fire?” 

And there it is. 

He wants to be pissed at her, he really does. For bringing him here and ambushing him with a question he’s not really sure he wants to answer. He also knows that if he says no, she won’t push him, and that takes him away from anger and right into empathy. 

“You know I wasn’t there when it happened, right?” 

“I know.” Arya nods immediately, “I wouldn’t ask, but everyone who was there isn’t here now, except for Sansa, and I don’t-…”

Her voice trails off but Gendry gets it. He gets it right away. She’s not asking him out of curiosity, but out of desperation. 

She doesn’t want Sansa to relive that trauma, and that is enough to convince him that he should tell her everything.

He just hopes it’s the right thing to do. 

xxx

_ He wakes up to the sounds of an incoming call. The only reason he’d taken his phone off vibrate is to make sure he doesn’t miss Bella going into labor. _

_As a single mother, his obstinate older sister is determined to do everything on her own but driving her to the hospital is nonnegotiable. It’s the least he can do for her. _

_It’s why Gendry doesn’t look at the phone screen to check the caller – there’s no other reason for someone else to call him at 5:30am._

_By the time he picks up, he’s already up and searching for a pair of pants to wear. _

_“Bella, I’m on my way.” _

_The heavy breath and static on the other end halts him._

_“Bella? No…Gen, it’s Sansa.” _

_He drops his pants as he detects the tremor in her voice. _

_“Sansa, what’s wrong?” _

_“It’s uh…it’s The-…” _

_She can barely get the words out, and he ignores the shiver running down his spine in favor of keeping her calm. _

_“Sansa, sweetheart, take a deep breath…that’s right, keep breathing for me.” _

_When he hears the unmistakable sounds of Sansa crying, it makes him feel absolutely helpless. There’s literally nothing he can do from so far away except to try and verbally soothe her. _

_It doesn’t seem to be working though. Before he can truly start to panic, there’s a rustle on the other end of the line, and a moment later, a much more subdued voice greets him. _

_“Hey mate, turn on the news.” _

_Jon? _

_Last he’d heard, his old friend was North of the Wall, helping several villages rebuild after one of the worst snowstorms in history. He shouldn’t have been anywhere near Winterfell. _

_What the fuck is going on?_

_Gendry plans on finding out as soon as possible, practically sprinting to the living room and turning his TV on. _

_It takes a while for him to find any real news coverage, but when he finally does, his legs nearly give out from underneath him. He drops onto his coffee table, eyes unable to move from the screen. _

_It’s Stark Manor…and it’s engulfed in flames. _

_Gendry increases the volume, but only registers bits and pieces of what the reporter is saying. His attention is on the banner running along the bottom of the screen. _

_Breaking News: Shocking Fire at Councilman Brandon Stark’s Childhood Home Continues to Rage Hours Later. _

_“Holy shit.” _

_Gendry doesn’t even realize he’s spoken out loud until he hears Jon’s heavy sigh. _

_“There’s something else.”_

_“What?” _

_The goosebumps spreading all over his arms and bare chest suggest that he should anticipate the worst, but nothing can truly prepare him for what Jon says next. _

_“They found a body…it’s Theon. He’s dead.” _

_Fuck. _

xxx 

“The only reason the police were able to connect Ramsay to the fire was the DNA under Theon’s fingernails.” 

At some point while he was talking, Arya had taken a seat on a fallen over tree branch. Gendry clears the spot next to her and sits down. 

“No one is really sure what happened, but it’s likely that Ramsay, strung out on whatever combo of pills and booze he’d taken that night, showed up at the manor, probably hoping to confront Sansa over the restraining order. 

He and Theon had some sort of altercation, after which Ramsay left. Sometime after that, he returned to the house, and set the fire. They found Theon in his bedroom. According to Sansa, he’d been having trouble sleeping so his therapist prescribed him something. He likely never even woke up.” 

It’s the only silver lining Gendry could possibly think of in this situation. Theon hadn’t suffered much, and thankfully, no one else had been home at the time. 

“Sansa would have been there had Theon not convinced her to go see Jon last minute. He thought it’d be a good idea for her to get out of Winterfell for a while.” 

“Lucky for her.” Arya mumbles, but it’s impossible to miss the bitterness in her tone. When she kicks a rock a little too hard right after, Gendry doesn’t even flinch. 

He’d kind of expected worse.

“Fuck. Just fuck.” She says it as though she’d underestimated the effect this would have on her. 

Gendry wishes he could give her a hug, or put his hand on her shoulder, but he does neither, knowing that it would be more for his benefit than hers. 

“I never liked Theon when we were growing up. I thought he was annoying and stupid and a brownnoser. One time, he caught me sneaking a frog into Robb’s bedroom – he was deathly afraid of them – and ratted me out to my mom. She wouldn’t let me out of my room for anything other than school and chores for weeks.” 

Gendry can’t help but smirk at that. 

“What’s it with you and sneaking animals into places they shouldn’t be?” 

At first he’s not sure the digression is welcome, but when Arya turns to him and smiles lightly, he’s glad he said it. Anything to wipe the defeat from her downcast eyes. 

She shrugs, but says nothing else, turning away to stare straight ahead. Gendry slides his hands into his jacket pockets, acutely aware of the cold again. 

“I only met Theon a few times,” he says eventually, “but he seemed alright to me. He cared a lot about Sansa, and it gave me peace of mind that she wasn’t alone here after Bran left.” 

_After you left,_ he wants to add, but doesn’t. 

There’s no room for _his_ bitterness here. 

“He’s also the reason Sansa met that smarmy Bolton fucker in the first place.” 

Arya’s voice startles him. Her tone more emotive than Gendry’s used to now and it makes his own guilt flare up. 

When he’d left Winterfell years before, it had been at Sansa’s insistence. 

She’d said he couldn’t keep putting his life on hold for their family and had to go to Storm’s End to do all the great things he’d intended to with his newly acquired inheritance. 

There had been no reason then for Gendry to believe anything else would happen. To expect that less than a year later, Sansa would end up in a relationship with someone who was far worse than his jerk of a half-brother. He had no way of knowing that his next trip up North would be for Theon Greyjoy’s funeral. 

From what Sansa had told Gendry later, Ramsay broke Theon first, had preyed on him in the wake of Robb’s death and used his insecurities against him. 

“Theon couldn’t have known,” Gendry says, feeling the need to defend the man, “Ramsay fucked with him too.” 

“And the bastard got what was coming to him.” 

Arya scoffs. 

“He didn’t suffer enough in my opinion.” 

On some level, it’s true that an accidental overdose is almost a cop out for someone as repulsive as Bolton. The fact that the police found him passed out in a pool of vomit with his own hounds gnawing at his flesh still seems like a poetic ending for such a scumbag. 

It’s obvious Arya finds nothing poetic about it and would have preferred to dole out her own brand of justice. 

For once, Gendry is glad she wasn’t there when everything went down. He’s not sure any of them could have stopped her from doing something irreversible, and Ramsay Bolton just isn’t fucking worth it. 

Sensing their stalemate on the issue, Arya decides to move on. 

“I only found out about everything later. We’d been trying to bust a child trafficking ring in Lorath and I was in deep cover for months. The agency has strict rules about this type of thing; only time they’ll pull an agent out is if a family member dies. When I finally found out what happened, Sansa was so insistent that everything was okay, and I-“ 

“You felt guilty.” 

“No, I felt _ashamed_. I felt responsible. I should have been there.” 

Arya won’t look at him, but he hears the ache in her voice. 

It’s almost a knee jerk reaction then for him to reach out and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. 

Arya doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t look at him either. 

“There’s nothing you could have done.” 

“That’s not true,” she counters, “if I had been there-“ 

Although Gendry knows he should be more careful while she’s being so vulnerable, he can’t help his frustration. 

It’s so typical of her to try and shoulder the burden. To find fault with herself for things that aren’t in her control. 

“If you had been there, nothing would have changed.” 

When she doesn’t react, Gendry tugs gently on her shoulder, “Arya, look at me.” 

Reluctantly, she turns her head. 

Gendry isn’t sure what he’s expecting but the thin sheen of unshed tears is not one of them. 

There’ve only been a handful of times he’s seen Arya Stark cry, and most of them have been from exasperation or anger. Not from the bone deep anguish that’s now so plainly written on her face. 

There’s something lurking beneath her gaze that tells him she’s hurting for reasons other than what happened in Winterfell back then. 

But now isn’t the time to push her. 

“There’s nothing you could have done to prevent what happened. Ramsay wasn’t like Joffrey. He was sneakier, more vindictive. He fooled all of us.” 

“He wouldn’t have fooled me.” She argues, but it’s weak, like she doesn’t trust her own words. 

“Maybe,” Gendry concedes, “but at what cost to your relationship with Sansa?” 

Arya doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing _to_ say here. 

He’s spent a lot of time going over what he could have done differently, and the conclusion he’s reached is the same. 

“Look, I feel like shit over what happened too. I had no idea how bad it had gotten until it was too late. But Sansa had to leave him on her own. There was no other way.” 

Sansa had said as much to him on the rare occasion that they’d spoken about her relationship with Ramsay. She never blamed any of them, Arya included, and she needed to know that. 

“I guess you’re right.” 

Arya doesn’t look convinced but some of the tension seeps from her body, suggesting to Gendry that he might’ve gotten through to her. He doesn’t even realize that he’s still touching her until Arya lays her much smaller hand on top of his and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

When she doesn’t move it right away, her eyes now less turbulent and focused entirely on him, Gendry has this sudden urge to lean forward, to do _something_. 

The particularly strong gust of wind that suddenly passes between them seems like a cruel distraction, but it snaps him right back into the present. 

He shivers involuntarily. 

Arya’s expression immediately changes into something way too impish. 

“Wimp,” she teases as she gets up, and Gendry instantly feels the loss of contact. 

“Ice sculpture,” he snaps back, and makes a point of zipping his jacket up even further as he stands up too, hoping to shake whatever it was that just happened. 

“Nah, I’m just not a weakling like you.” 

He raises his eyebrow at her, “careful, or I’ll pick you up and throw you into that snow drift over there.” 

“You’d have to catch me first.” Arya challenges, taking a few big steps away from him. 

Gendry has an instant flashback of all the times she’d similarly goaded him in their youth, taunting him until he gave in and started chasing her. 

He almost does it too, but then remembers where they are and what they’ve just discussed, and his amusement dims a bit. 

Arya seems to sense the shift in mood, her smile turning into something more gracious. 

“Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy.” 

“You’re welcome.” He says right back, keeping his eyes locked on hers. He hopes his look conveys that despite everything, he still cares about her and hopes that in return, she can confide in him eventually. 

Arya looks at him like she might actually understand, like she knows exactly what he wants to tell her but can’t say just yet. Then she blinks, and the moment passes. 

“You can repay me by getting me out of this goddamn forest and back to my truck and its heater.” 

Arya visibly exhales and rolls her eyes, but her lips are curved just slightly upward and Gendry’s glad for it. 

It’s nice to know that he can still make her smile. 

“Alright, let’s go, before you start crying icicles.” 

She marches right past him, expecting him to follow and Gendry does. 

xxx 


	5. running scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She suddenly has a flash of what her life might have been like if she’d just stayed. If she’d just chosen the easy, uncomplicated path. The one where mornings like this, filled with coffee and conversation, were a thing of the mundane. 
> 
> She’s never chosen the simple route though. It’s not who she is, and while Arya’s not certain of much anymore, she’s pretty sure Gendry has always known this about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to all you readers out there. You have no idea how happy it makes me that anyone, let alone all of you, are enjoying this story. I hope you continue to like where I'm going here. Chapter title is from The Strumbellas. As always, I own nothing, except my imagination, which can be fickle as hell these days ;)

The sun has barely risen over the horizon when Arya stumbles into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker.

It’s not until she’s had several scalding sips that she realizes she’s not alone. Sansa’s seated at the breakfast nook looking far more alert and put together than Arya could ever hope to be this early in the morning; or really any time of the day. 

When the redhead looks up and smiles, Arya is once again reminded how much pregnancy agrees with her sister. Sansa has always carried herself well, but there’s something to be said for the new fullness in her figure and the perpetual radiance to her complexion. 

Arya never understood what people meant by pregnancy glow but now she does. Sansa’s basically the walking embodiment of it. 

There’s really only one topic that ever seems to dampen her sister’s mood. It’s not very obvious but Arya’s entire career has been built on her ability to read people. So, she notices that any time Jon comes up in conversation, Sansa goes stone cold. 

It’s why she had hoped to leave this morning unnoticed. However, when Sansa asks her what she’s doing up so early, Arya doesn’t want to lie. Maybe she should just ask her sister what her problem is with Jon and be done with it. 

In her experience, keeping secrets never ends well. 

Determined, Arya refills her coffee, grabs a banana from the fruit bowl, and comes to sit at the table. 

“I’m going to visit Jon for the day.” 

As much as Sansa tries to school her reaction, her hand visibly tightens around the mug of tea she’s holding. 

“I see.” 

When Arya doesn’t say anything in response, Sansa puts the magazine she’s reading down and clasps her hands on the table. 

“You should probably get an early start. Castle Black is nearly a half-day’s drive from here.”

“He’s in Last Hearth reupping supplies. I’m taking the train there.” 

“Oh.” 

Sansa’s lips press into a firm line but she says nothing else. Seconds tick by in uncomfortable silence, until Arya decides she’s had enough of these edgy moments. 

“Sansa, what is go-…”

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like she’ll be getting to the bottom of this anytime soon. Gendry chooses that exact moment to walk into the kitchen. 

He doesn’t look as surprised to see Sansa as he is to see Arya. His eyes flicker between the two sisters, clearly picking up on the tension, before settling on Arya in the end. 

“Hey.”

She can’t help the completely distracting way her stomach lurches under his gaze. Or how she immediately catalogues the days’ old stubble on his jaw and the broadness of his shoulders in the tight blue Henley he’s wearing. 

It’s his fault really. Nobody should look this good at 6:30 in the morning. 

“Hi.” She eventually says back, trying not to completely give away whatever it is she’s feeling. 

“You’re here early today.” Sansa’s comment shifts Gendry’s gaze away from Arya’s. 

“Yeah, wanted to be here when the textile manufacturer arrives. Gotta make sure they get the order right this time.” 

Sansa’s whole face lights up in recognition.

“Oh my god, that’s today. I completely forgot. Thank you.” 

“It’s okay, I got it.” 

The way Gendry’s entire face instantly goes soft reminds Arya just how much he adores her sister. It’s something she never paid much attention to when they were kids, probably because Gendry spent most of his time with her. Since being back, she’s noticed it more and more. It’s obvious that the feeling is mutual and it helps assuage Arya’s guilt, knowing that at least they had each other to lean on while she’s been away. 

Arya briefly considers asking Gendry if he knows what’s up with Sansa and Jon, but as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she pushes it aside. 

She’s already cornered him once and he was unnecessarily gracious, telling her everything she wanted to know about the fire without questioning her motives. 

She hadn’t told him then that her rampant need to hear about the horrible incident that killed Theon was born out of pure self-loathing. She’d woken up that morning from yet another nightmare and couldn’t get past this idea that everything she’d done in the last ten years, making the decision to leave home, going through grueling training, signing up for as many overseas missions as possible had been for nothing. 

She couldn’t save her partner and she wasn’t there when her family needed her most. She’s useless in protecting the people she loves.

But Arya isn’t about to admit that to anyone, even Gendry. It’s her own burden and he doesn’t need to help her shoulder it.

“I need the work order though. Don’t have it in my files.” 

Gendry addresses Sansa with his back to them, too busy extracting a mug from the cupboard and filling it to the brim with coffee. 

Her sister stands up rather abruptly, obviously using Gendry’s request as a way to avoid answering Arya’s interrupted question. 

“I’ll get it for you, it’s upstairs.” 

She hesitates before she walks out of the kitchen.

“Arya, can you wait until I come back?” 

“Sure.” 

When it’s just the two of them, Arya turns to find Gendry watching her curiously. She’s pretty sure he wants her to explain the awkwardness that just transpired but he doesn’t ask. 

“Where you headed to, today?” 

“Last Hearth, Jon’s up there for a few days so I thought it’d be a good time to see him.” 

At the mention of her favorite brother, Gendry’s expression shifts but Arya doesn’t pay it much attention. There’s already too much on her mind. 

“Especially since he’s not coming for Christmas.” 

Arya isn’t sure why she supplies that bit of information, aside from her disappointment. She frowns, remembering the text Jon had sent her explaining why he wouldn’t be able to come down this year. No matter how much she pleaded with him, he’d been firm in his decision and suggested she come see him instead. 

“How do you plan to get there?” Gendry asks, again freeing her from her own thoughts. 

Arya glances briefly at the stove clock, confirming she has some time before she needs to head out. 

“There’s an 8:05 train I’m supposed to take.” 

“Uh, that rail is unreliable in the best of days, but extra shitty when it’s bad weather.” 

Arya isn’t sure what to say to that, so she shrugs and takes a sip of her coffee. Worst case scenario, she spends the night at Last Hearth. She’s stayed in worst places. 

Gendry grows pensive for a moment, and then he’s digging into his pockets and pulling out his keys. 

“Here, take my truck, I’m not planning on leaving here today any time soon.” 

It takes her a second to register what he’s offering, and when she does, her first instinct is to decline. Yet when she opens her mouth, that’s not what comes out. 

“You don’t have to do that, Gendry.” 

But he’s already placing the keys in her palm, looking at her so earnestly, Arya simply doesn’t have the heart to deny him. 

“I know,” he acknowledges, “but I can, so why not?”

Arya can’t argue with that. It’s who Gendry has always been, someone who will always offer help if he can. Someone who protects and looks after the people around him. 

She suddenly has a flash of what her life might have been like if she’d just stayed. If she’d just chosen the easy, uncomplicated path. The one where mornings like this, filled with coffee and conversation, were a thing of the mundane. 

She’s never chosen the easy route though. It’s not who she is, and while Arya’s not certain of much anymore, she’s pretty sure Gendry has always known this about her. Maybe that’s why he’s not angry with her, because he accepted who she is a long time ago. 

Something about that makes her heart spasm almost painfully in her chest, and Arya squeezes the keys in her palm. She really doesn’t deserve his kindness. 

“Thank you. I’ll try to get back at a reasonable hour.” 

“It’s all good. I’m fumigating the attic, so I’ll be here awhile.” 

“Gross.” 

Gendry chuckles lightly at the face she makes, before turning to refill his coffee.

Arya is about to make a joke about him having an addiction when Sansa comes back into the kitchen with a folder under one arm and a large bag full of wrapped packages in the other.

“Here’s the work order, Gen. Should be everything you need.” 

Gendry sets his mug down and grabs the folder, leafing through it in silence. 

“And here, Arya. Since you’ll be seeing Jon, you can give him his Christmas gifts.” 

Arya feels Gendry’s eyes on her as soon as Sansa says this, but she keeps her attention on her sister, trying to figure out her motives. 

As kids, Sansa went out of her way to make Jon feel unwanted. It was no doubt their mother’s influence, and while Arya couldn’t really fault her mom for being so cold towards her husband’s illegitimate child, Arya could never understand Sansa’s actions. 

Everything changed when they were the last Starks left. It no longer mattered how any of them had come into this world, only that they had each other, and Arya had witnessed first-hand how much Sansa warmed up to Jon. 

That’s why this hot and cold attitude of hers makes no sense, and Arya is even more determined to figure out what is going on. 

Sansa clears her throat.

“You better get going, you don’t want to miss your train.” 

“It’s fine,” Arya says, twirling Gendry’s keys in her hand, “Gendry’s let me borrow his truck.” 

Sansa’s face dissolves into a knowing smile, but Arya refuses to acknowledge it. 

“I’ll make sure Jon gets these.” She promises instead. 

Her sister decides to let her have this round apparently, because she simply thanks her and returns to the table. 

Arya peels and eats her banana in three bites before draining her coffee. Gendry’s eyes continue to flicker between her and Sansa, as if silently asking her what’s going on, but Arya shrugs and grabs the gift bag. 

“Thanks again, I’ll see you later.” 

Then she walks out, leaving Gendry to decide if he wants to ask Sansa what’s going on. 

xxx

Jon looks exactly the same. 

That’s the first thought that crosses her mind when she spots her half-brother standing outside the restaurant they’d agreed to meet at; a cigarette wedged between his lips. 

His hair is still as curly and unruly as ever, hanging loose and almost grazing the collar of his thick coat. As soon as he spots her, Jon’s face lights up in a smile that’s all too familiar, and Arya returns it eagerly. 

So much has changed since they saw each other that his general sameness grounds Arya in a very unexpected way. As does the tight hug he pulls her into the second she’s within arm’s reach. 

She goes willingly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing with all her might as she nearly squeals into his neck. 

The ensuing rumbling in his chest perpetuates the joy she feels. They take far too long to separate. 

“I want to say you’ve grown but that would be a lie. You’re still a shorty.”

Jon tries to ruffle her hair, but Arya expertly dodges his hand. 

“Hey, easy there. It takes a lot to look this disheveled, don’t go mucking it up.” 

His eyes soften at the corners as they sweep over her and Arya just knows he’s about to say something that’ll burn her to the wick. 

“You look good.” 

It’s not so much what he says but how he says it that tells her he’s referring to the incident that put her out of commission. 

That’s what her superiors had taken to calling the night she lost her partner – an incident. 

It makes Arya nauseous just thinking about it. 

“Thanks, so do you.” She replies, but then purses her lips to indicate that he’s getting nothing else out of her. 

Jon seems to take the hint and nudges her towards the restaurant doors. 

“C’mon, I’m buying and in return, you’re telling me about all the crazy places you’ve been to since I saw you last.” 

Now that she can do. 

xxx 

They end up spending over two hours catching up. There are a few times that she gets the impulse to ask Jon about the fire but doesn’t actually work up the nerve to do it. 

Something tells her it was an even darker time for him than for Gendry, and Arya simply doesn’t have the heart to drag Jon back into the past for the sake of picking at her own scabs. 

It’s not until they’re walking back to her car that she remembers just how persistent Jon can be when it comes to her well-being. 

“Have you figured out what you’d like to do next?” 

She knows he doesn’t mean what she plans to do later today or next week, but the urge to play dumb still rears its ugly head. She makes the mistake of locking eyes with him though, and the earnest way he looks at her stops whatever sarcastic reply she had planned. 

“To be honest, I haven’t thought about it much. I’m still-“

She’s still what? Recuperating? Processing? Desperately trying to come to terms with the fact that she will likely never go into the field again?

“Healing.” 

For better or worse, that’s what she came home to do, and while she’s not sure how much progress she’s actually made, it still feels like the most honest response she can give right now.

Jon smiles encouragingly but then grows contemplative.

“Can I make a suggestion without you biting my head off?” 

Arya throws him a skeptical side glance, “depends on the suggestion, I suppose.” 

Jon rolls his eyes then stops and faces her, prompting Arya to do the same. 

“There are other ways of doing good besides taking down bad guys. You can also just help people directly.” 

This isn’t the first time Jon has pushed her in this direction. 

Back when she had applied to the Academy, he had held out hope she’d go into more of a peacemaking or humanitarian direction. Or in the very least, simple intelligence gathering. He’d never thought she would end up a field agent for one of the most covert units in the entire bureau. 

Had he known, Arya doubts he would have ever given her the brochure in the first place.

That’s precisely why she feels compelled not to blow him off. She knows Jon carries a certain amount of guilt over what happened to her on the job; feels responsible for the way her life has turned out.

And he really shouldn’t. 

She’d fucked it up all on her own. 

“I know that. I just need a little time, okay?” 

Jon doesn’t look convinced at first, but when she steps forward and places her hand on his shoulder, he appears somewhat mollified. 

“That’s actually perfect, because there will be a job opening soon on our team and I think you’d be an excellent fit for it.” 

Arya must look extra confused, or taken aback, because Jon decides to explain further. 

“You’d get to deliver supplies and medical care to thousands of people and still get to travel, explore new places. Just North, this time, instead of East.” 

It does sound attractive to her. Her desire to see the world was what had prompted her to volunteer for overseas missions, but something about the idea of leaving Winterfell now seems wrong.

Not when Sansa is about to have a child. Not when she and Gendry have just…

Arya stops herself before that thought can go any further.

“Alright, I’ll think about it.” She concedes, before resuming her walk to the truck. 

Jon appears satisfied with her promise and picks up the pace besides her. He had gotten a ride to meet her, so she’s dropping him off before heading back to Winterfell. 

“I have something for you,” she says as soon as they climb into the truck and turns to the backseat to pull out the bag full of gifts.

“It’s from Sansa actually.”

She waits to add that part until she can actually see Jon’s face, and is rewarded with an immediate shift in expression. 

Except unlike Sansa, who seems to freeze the moment Jon is mentioned, Jon’s face merely becomes wistful, before dissolving into an appreciative smile.

It’s a bit of a letdown really. Arya has seen him look at Sansa with this exact mixture of adoration and melancholy since they were kids. His patience with her antics when they were younger used to aggravate Arya like no other, and it seems like his tolerance hasn’t abated. 

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything,” she says, feeling chastened by Jon’s reaction.

“It’s okay,” he says immediately, patting her knee before setting the bag down by his feet, “but you should get something in the mail from me in a couple weeks. Probably just in time for Christmas.” 

He smiles, but avoids her gaze, busying himself with buckling the seatbelt.

The mention of Christmas sobers her mood even further.

“You sure you can’t come?” 

This time Jon does turn to her, and he looks almost pained as he shakes his head. 

“Like I told you, this is an extremely busy time of year for us. I’m the only one without kids and it seems wrong not to give the other guys an opportunity to be with their families on Christmas.” 

Arya so badly wants to remind him that he has a family too. That just because he isn’t married or a father, doesn’t mean he should be alone during the holidays, but she knows there’s no point.

He wouldn’t be the brother she loves if he didn’t martyr himself every once in a while. Now that she’d seen him with her own two eyes, it’s alleviated some of her disappointment at not having him home for the holidays. 

She’d just have to make another trip up North at some point. And who knows, maybe she’ll end up interviewing for that position on his team. This time, she does a better job of suppressing any thoughts to the contrary and turns on the engine. 

“Sansa, she’s good then?” 

They drive in silence for so long, Arya almost doesn’t hear Jon when he speaks. 

“Oh yeah, she’s good.”

“And the baby?” 

Something about the way Jon asks gives her pause, but she can’t quite put her finger on it. So she does her best to be casual about it.

“Yup, just baking in there, I think. We find out the gender in a few weeks.” 

They actually have an appointment scheduled right after Christmas, and Arya is really looking forward to it because Bran will be home, and they’ll all get to find out and celebrate together. But she doesn’t tell Jon any of that. It seems somehow cruel that he’s excluded from it all, even if its self-imposed. 

“Ah, that’s quite exciting.” 

“It is.” Arya agrees, not really sure what else to say, and the car falls silent again until a couple blocks later.

“Never pegged you for a truck type of girl.” 

As soon as Arya fully absorbs Jon’s comment, she can’t help but laugh. There’s something amusing about him thinking that this is her car. 

“What’s so funny?” He probes immediately. 

Arya shakes her head, “nothing, it’s just this isn’t my car. It’s Gendry’s.” 

“Gendry?” Jon’s surprise, or at least the tone he uses, suddenly makes Arya feel oddly exposed. 

“Yeah, he’s been working on the house and let me borrow it for the drive here. The trains being fucked up and all.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

There’s that tone again, but Arya’s not taking the bait. 

“Yes.”

“That’s nice of him.” 

“Yup. He’s a nice guy.” She tries to keep her face neutral, but she can see just how tickled Jon is by this information and it snaps her resolve. 

“Gods, you’re worse than Sansa, and I thought you would be better than that. Guess not.” 

She frowns at him when they reach the next red light, but Jon just smirks at her.

“Sansa’s usually right, especially when it comes to relationships, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Oh my god, Gendry and I do not have a relationship. We hadn’t even spoken in ten years until I came back home to find that he’s living in Winterfell too, and even now, we’re barely friends!” 

She’s well aware of her elevated voice, and that she’s rambling but it feels good to get it off her chest. And if there’s a part of her that wishes she and Gendry were actually friends, well Jon doesn’t need to know that. 

“And yet he let you run 350 miles on his truck.” 

Arya doesn’t understand how Jon can sound so skeptical with just his intonation, but it’s truly a gift.

“It’s the stupid trains,” she counters, but it’s weak. Now, she’s thinking about all the other times Gendry has been unnecessarily nice to her and it makes her question everything. 

Her face must give away her confusion because Jon takes pity on her and changes the subject, sharing an amusing anecdote involving a coworker of his named Tormund, and a wild cow. 

The story has Arya well and truly distracted until they pull up to the clinic. She shuts off the engine so she can lean over and give Jon a proper hug. He returns it eagerly, holding her against him for a beat longer than necessary.

“Thank you for coming to see me.” 

“Always.” Arya whispers into his neck before pulling back. 

“And please thank Sansa for the presents.” 

Arya appraises him for a moment, before deciding to just ask what she desperately wants to. 

“Why can’t you thank her yourself?” 

Something indecipherable flashes across Jon’s face but it passes quickly. 

“I suppose I can.” 

“You should.” 

Jon looks like he’s about to say something, but then thinks better of it and clasps her on the shoulder once more before stepping out of the car.

“Drive safely.” He cautions her before closing the car door, and Arya nods quickly, “I will.” 

It’s something they’d gotten used to saying after the car accident. The fact that Jon remembers nearly twelve years later warms Arya from the inside out. It also distracts her long enough that she doesn’t notice Jon’s smile turn roguish. 

“Oh and Arya?” 

“Yeah?”

“Tell Gendry that I’m not surprised he bought the most obnoxiously large truck he could get his hands on.” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

xxx

She tries not to think about it; she really does. But it’s a long drive home and she just can’t get Jon’s words out of her head. Specifically, she can’t stop analyzing why Gendry has been so nice to her, when he has exactly zero reason to be. 

Maybe it’s her rampant need to prove Jon wrong that has her asking Sansa for Gendry’s number and then texting him when she stops for gas. 

Sure, she can reasonably blame her impulsivity on that. 

But when she sees a text notification from Gendry not even five minutes later – 

_Tell Jon that if he wants to add to his custom sword collection ever again, he will rescind that comment._

\- Arya has a harder time justifying both the smile on her face and the spark of hope that flutters like a butterfly inside her chest.

xxx


	6. about her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s taken years for Gendry to stop relying on anger as a defense mechanism. 
> 
> If he had to pinpoint the moment he promised himself to do better, to not let someone else’s decisions dictate his life, it had been that rare sunny afternoon in Winterfell.
> 
> And he wasn't going to fall back into bad habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't express my gratitude enough for all of you who are leaving such thoughtful comments on this story! Makes my heart soar :) 
> 
> This update is dedicated to all my fellow Sansa/Gendry bromance shippers. I cannot tell you how much I love writing this friendship. Although this story is very much Arya's journey, this chapter is super important because it gets a little bit inside Gendry's head. I really enjoy writing his POV as painstaking as it can be sometimes, and I do hope you all like the direction I took this in. 
> 
> Chapter title taken from a Malcolm MacLaren song of the same name from the Kill Bill Vol. 2 Soundtrack. Characters belong to GRRM. Thank you all for reading!

“So, you and Arya text now?” 

Sansa is home early from work and is sprawled on the couch besides him in the newly refurbished living room. 

She’s sipping on her usual herbal concoction, laptop balanced in her lap, while Gendry scarfs down a very late lunch. 

She raises the question while he’s mid-bite, having spotted Arya’s name flashing on his phone, which gives Gendry time to respond. 

“Yeah, occasionally. Is that a problem?” 

He’s not about to tell her that Arya is specifically texting him right now, because she’s running a top-secret errand for Sansa’s Christmas gift. 

“Not a problem per se, just curious.” 

Her tone implies she knows something he doesn’t. Annoyed, Gendry abandons his half-eaten sandwich and pivots his body towards her. 

“If you have something to say, just say it.” 

Sansa, at least, has the sense to appear momentarily chastened, before she rests her mug on her belly and shrugs. 

“I just think it’s really interesting how she comes back home after almost ten years and you just pick up right where you left off.” 

She has a point, but it’s not completely accurate. If they had picked up where they left off, well…

Gendry’s face grows hot as a particularly lascivious thought crosses his mind. He hides it well behind the napkin he’s using to wipe his face. 

“How else was I supposed to react, Sans? I thought we agreed a long time ago that me getting mad or overreacting about shit I can’t control is not exactly healthy.” 

“Is that what this is?” she continues to probe, “you’re trying not to lash out, so you overcompensate by being too nice?” 

“I’m not overcompensating for anything. I’m being nice because there’s no reason not to be. Whatever happened with me and Arya is in the past. We just happen to be in the same place at the same time. Once I wrap up the reno here, I’ll go back to Storm’s End, and that’ll be that.” 

“Right,” Sansa’s quick to comment, and as much as Gendry loves to go back and forth with her on a vast myriad of topics, the subject of Arya is not one of them. 

Especially not when he hasn’t fully flushed out his own motivations for being so friendly with her. 

A part of him is afraid that Arya simply won’t care if he’s upset with her. She certainly didn’t take his feelings into consideration when she left, so why would now be any different? 

Though, that’s not entirely it. 

There’s also the fact that she’s clearly not alright, and the only time he really feels like she’s able to put that behind her is when they’re hanging out. 

Despite everything, he still very much wants Arya to be okay. To not have a cloud of sadness following her at every turn. So, maybe his intention with being nice is entirely selfish. 

That seems like something he’s not sure he wants to share with anyone, even Sansa…maybe _ especially _ Sansa. 

That doesn’t stop her from awkwardly maneuvering around her ever-present belly to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t be honest with me, because she’s my sister, you know?”

Gendry nods, a wave of gratitude washing over him. He drops a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly as a smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you, I appreciate that. But also, when have I ever not been honest with you?” 

Sansa furrows her eyebrow for a moment. As if she’s genuinely thinking back to a time when Gendry was dishonest with her. He snorts at her. Her reaction is so typical, it brings him a measure of much needed comfort. 

“I suppose you’ve never lied to me, and that’s probably why I keep you around.” 

There’s a playfulness in her tone, which is only compounded by the way she lightly pinches his shoulder. 

Beneath the humor though, Gendry can see how much the realization actually reassures her. 

It sparks a thought that he doesn’t particularly want to pursue but feel obligated to in the wake of their conversation. 

“Speaking of honesty, when do you plan to tell Arya about Jon?” 

Sansa’s smile drops immediately, lips pressing into a thin line. Gendry holds her gaze, not put off at all by her sudden change in attitude. 

The perk of knowing Sansa for nearly half his life is her complete inability to intimidate him…well, most of the time anyway.

“Jon’s made his position very clear, and I’m not going to push.” 

He immediately regrets bringing it up as he detects sadness lurking beneath her resolve. Still, he’s pretty certain that if Sansa wanted to, she could convince Jon to change his mind.

“He could have told her when she went to visit him last week.” Sansa adds so quietly Gendry almost doesn’t hear her.

“I don’t think he’d want to do it without you.” 

“That’s why he’s avoiding Christmas here.” 

The dejection in her tone is so similar to Arya’s when the latter expressed displeasure at Jon’s decision not to come to Winterfell, that Gendry feels annoyed at the older man. 

He’s making both Stark sisters – and probably himself – miserable by being so obstinate.

Yet, from one bastard to another, Gendry can understand Jon’s motives. He’s just also keenly aware that keeping secrets never ends well and can’t think of any situation in which all hell will not break loose the longer Arya is kept in the dark.

He intends to raise this point but Sansa speaks first.

“Listen, Bran’s going to be home soon and once we get the documents sorted, I’ll sit Arya down and tell her everything, okay?” 

“Deal.” Gendry gives her a rueful smile before turning to his sandwich, but it appears Sansa isn’t done yet.

“As long as you promise me, that if anything happens with Arya, you won’t feel weird talking to me about it.” 

He pauses with the sandwich half-way to his mouth, trying very hard not to be annoyed by Sansa’s insistence.

“Nothing is going to happen with Arya, but fine. I will.” 

He agrees mostly to appease her but Sansa doesn’t seem to care, looking triumphant as she readjusts the laptop on her lap and returns to whatever she was working on. 

Gendry pointedly ignores her as she mutters “we’ll see” under her breath. 

xxx 

Hours later, as he sits at the makeshift workstation in his bedroom, Gendry finds himself thinking about his conversation with Sansa. 

He’s never once questioned his interactions with Arya in the months she’s been back. 

If anything, he’s begun looking forward to running into her or conversing with her on the rare occasion that they seek each other out. 

Regardless of what happened between them romantically, their relationship had been built on friendship first, and he happens to still like her very much. 

The instinct to look out for her hasn’t abated in their time apart. 

It’s why he had offered his truck to her the minute he learned she was going to visit Jon, and why he’s done his best to distract her from whatever she has been grappling with internally.

Nevertheless, considering how much of a mess he was after Arya had left, he’s not exactly surprised that Sansa expected something other than cordial indifference from him. Especially, since she’d been the one to pick up the pieces. 

Gendry doesn’t like thinking about those months of his life, but that’s exactly where his mind goes. 

xxx

_The alcohol doesn’t burn as he swallows the whiskey and deposits the shot glass onto the bar. _

_He’s not sure how many he’s had but since Ed, the kind bartender, has stopped wasting clean glasses on him some time ago, Gendry would bet it’s a lot. _

_They have a nice system going. _

_Gendry will take the drink, slide the glass from side to side on the wet bar surface until his vision stops blurring. Then he’ll signal for another. _

_Ed will sidle up with his handlebar mustache and disapproving stare and refill him. _

_The entire interaction happens without words, which pleases Gendry immensely. _

_He has nothing to say to anyone, least not anything interesting. He’s just a loser who’s pissing away his inheritance on the shittiest whiskey the dingiest bar in Winterfell has to offer._

_‘Suppose you can take the bastard out of Flea Bottom, but you can’t take the Flea Bottom out of the bastard. _

_The bitter realization sparks an urge to buy the entire bottle, or better yet, just pick up the tab for everyone in this wretched place. He can do that now; he can afford it. _

_He takes a look around though and notices only two other patrons in the entire establishment. They both look about as miserable as he does, which tempers his enthusiasm to support their drinking habits._

_He belongs right here, around people who are unwanted, who nobody is looking for at 3pm on a Tuesday because they’re not worth the trouble. _

_There’s a distant voice in his head, a very, very distant voice that tells him he’s being dramatic, but it’s drowned out by the self-pitying haze of alcohol and the image of sharp, gray eyes and perfectly arched eyebrows. _

_Fine, maybe he isn’t completely unwanted, but she certainly doesn’t want him, and that’s fucking enough for him. _

_The familiar surge of anger grips him like a vice, and he nearly cracks the glass with the force of his fist._

_He raises it to beckon dear old Ed back when a hand settles firmly on his forearm, pushing it down. Even from across the bar, Gendry can see just how relieved the old man is._

_“That traitor,” he mutters under his breath, staring down at the scuffed bar panel._

_“Talking to ourselves now, are we?” _

_He suddenly remembers why he’d been interrupted and looks up to find a pair of exasperated blue eyes peering down at him._

_Not for the first time, he thanks the Gods that the two Stark sisters look nothing alike. It would be quite the tragedy if he couldn’t stomach looking Sansa in the eye. She’s about the only person who still gives a shit about him._

_She really shouldn’t. _

_“Go away,” he mutters again, louder this time, so she knows exactly whom he’s addressing. _

_“No can do. We’re either going home or we’re staying here, but I’m not leaving.” _

_He doesn’t want to tell her that home, which is the Stark Manor for now, is the last place he wants to be. It reminds him of everything he doesn’t have. Everything he had thought he had just weeks ago. _

_“Okay, here it is then.” _

_After a few moments of terse silence, Sansa slides into the neighboring stool. Gendry grunts his disapproval. _

_“Don’t you have class or somethin’.” _

_“I could say the same about you.” Her voice is much clearer than his slurred speech, much sharper. Gendry thinks of another girl, with an actual sharp tongue and it sobers him up some but does nothing for his mood. _

_He can feel himself skirting the edge of rage and knows this is the time to stop drinking. More alcohol will only tip him over the edge and into the unknown. _

_“Just leave me alone, Sansa. I won’t drink anymore today, I promise.” _

_He shoves the glass away as a show of good faith, but it earns him no favor with the tall redhead._

_She frowns at him._

_“So, you’re just going to sit here all day doing what exactly?”_

_He shrugs silently. He doesn’t have to explain himself._

_Sansa seems to think otherwise._

_“You can’t keep doing this, Gen. I can’t keep leaving my internship in the middle of the day to drag your sorry ass back home.”_

_He twists his head so abruptly to look at her, he sways, but manages to steady himself. Sansa looks instantly apologetic, realizing her erroneous choice of words. _

_But the damage is done. _

_Gendry grips the bar almost painfully, trying – and failing – to quell the anger starting to brew in earnest. _

_“Nobody asked you to fucking be here.”_

_“That’s not what I meant.” _

_She replies defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to entertain his self-pity. Her stance reminds him too much of another’s and he rises suddenly, the screech of the barstool startling them both. _

_“I’m sorry to be such a fucking inconvenience to you too. Guess you Starks are all the same. Only think about yourselves.” _

_Gendry barely registers the look of hurt on Sansa’s face and how her bravado crumbles beneath the calculated weight of his words. _

_All he knows is that he really needs to hit something, and he doesn’t want to fuck up this bar. He’s a regular after all. _

_He brushes past Sansa, and yells something at Ed about putting his shots on his tab. Then he makes a beeline for the door, stumbling only once. _

_The second he exits, the afternoon sun hits Gendry squarely in the face._

_He blindly reaches to steady himself against the exterior of the bar, but as soon as he feels the brick surface, his other hand curls reflexively into a fist. _

_This time, he has nothing holding him back._

xxx 

It had been the last straw. 

Seeing Sansa’s horrified face as he clutched his bleeding hand to his side had been the wakeup call he had needed. 

Sansa has adamantly denied ever being truly afraid of him but Gendry knows with certainly, even years later, that he had terrified her that day. 

He’d exposed a side of his rage that she’d never seen before and in doing so, revealed to himself a glimpse of a man he didn’t want to be. 

Having a slice of the Baratheon fortune did not mean he also had to inherit the fury. He didn’t need to be like his father, who had fallen victim to alcohol and bad decisions long before the boating accident that killed him and his best friend. 

It’s taken years for Gendry to stop relying on anger as a defense mechanism. 

If he had to pinpoint the moment he promised himself to do better, to not let someone else’s decisions dictate his life, it had been that rare sunny afternoon in Winterfell. It had been the look of pure fear in _his_ best friend’s eyes as he dripped blood on the asphalt. 

Gendry blinks suddenly, realizing he’s just been staring at the wood carving in his hand for the last several minutes. 

It’s only when he feels the vibration against his leg that realizes what drew him out of his thoughts. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and for the first time, seeing Arya’s name displayed on the screen tightens his stomach with dread rather than elation. 

He’s instantly reminded of the catalyst for his poor choices back then – what had ultimately driven him to abandon his responsibilities for months and drink himself into a stupor for weeks on end. 

It had taken him so long to feel some sense of normalcy after Arya left. To not simmer at the mention of her name. Now she’s been back for less than three months and he’s already making the same mistake again. 

He’s letting her back in without considering the consequences of what it would do to him if she decides to leave again. 

Maybe Sansa’s right. 

Maybe he is overcompensating, or maybe he’s just an idiot, thinking that things are different now. 

Whatever it is, Gendry decides right then and there that he’s not putting himself through all of that again. 

He can still look out for her without putting his heart on the line again. He did it for years before anything romantic ever happened between them and he can do it again. 

He just needs a little distance.

Having made up his mind, Gendry stares at the phone display until Arya’s name stops flashing. Then he tosses it on his bed, and returns to the figurine he was carving. 

xxx


	7. stuck in gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This isn’t about me.” Arya counters, because it needs to be said.
> 
> "It’s about Gendry and making sure he knows that he can trust me. That I won’t hurt him ever again. At least, I’ll try not to.”
> 
> Bran slides his hand from underneath hers to lightly grasp her wrist.
> 
> “And how is that not love?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to dedicate this part to all the readers who are sticking with this story despite some elements that might be vague or surprising. When I scoped this out originally, I had in mind a specific narrative for Arya’s journey back to the people she left. So everything I'm setting up is connected to that. This chapter has some of my favorite descriptions in it. I sincerely hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Title from Of Monsters and Men, and as always, I don't own the characters. Thank you <3

Gendry is acting weird. Distant. 

In the last few days, he hasn’t returned any of her calls or texts, and has somehow managed to avoid her altogether when he’s at the house. 

Arya wouldn’t be so concerned if Christmas wasn’t just around the corner and they weren’t collaborating on an epic gift for Sansa and the baby. 

At least that’s what she’s been telling herself to avoid the real reason she’s so bothered by his distance. 

She misses him, and not like she would miss a friend. Arya doesn’t know when it happened or how, but somewhere between Last Hearth and Winterfell, while driving a car that smelled exactly like him, she’d realized that their newly found acquaintance had morphed into something else entirely. 

At least for her. 

Since then, it feels like she’s been seeing Gendry with new eyes, noticing little things about him and their interactions that’s so reminiscent of their dynamic before. It makes her wonder just what he’s thinking. 

Beyond that, it’s forced her to confront that she might have more than friendly feelings for him.

The thought doesn’t scare her half as much as it did when she was just a teenager.

Loss had been such a constant in her life back then, the idea of upsetting the perfect balance she had with Gendry scared her enough to find the fastest way out. 

But she has no intention of running this time. 

The issue is Gendry doesn’t know that. 

Every time Arya thinks about why he’s avoiding her, her heart plummets to her stomach. 

He doesn’t want to get hurt again, that much is obvious. 

It makes her feel dreadful in a way that not even thinking about her dead partner does, because she can actually do something about this. 

If only, she’d work up the courage. 

“You seem distracted.” 

Arya turns sharply to her left to find her brother’s dark introspective eyes appraising her with interest. The frown line between her brows softens as she takes him in. 

They’re in the Godswood, a place of comfort for them both; albeit for entirely different reasons.

For Arya, it’s where she spent the most time as a kid running circles around her father while he prayed or meditated. It’s also where Jon taught her basic self-defense skills; and where she’d often entertain him with mindless games to distract him from the scornful eye of her mother. 

For Bran though, the Godswood is where he grieved the loss of their mother and brothers. It’s where Arya would find him many a night after the accident and sit beside him, gritting her teeth as his sobs wrecked the air. 

She’d never felt as helpless as she did in those two years she lived in Winterfell. Sansa was working so hard to keep the family business afloat, which left Arya caring for a brother who had just begun to grow into a man when he was suddenly orphaned and lost his ability to walk. 

She and Bran had been close as kids, but their bond had only gotten stronger in that time. They’d helped each other grief and in the process, forged a new level of understanding, which has only grown. 

Bran had been the only one who supported her completely when she left to Braavos. He’d encouraged her; made her feel like she was running towards something rather than away from the people who loved her most.

It made it that much easier to stay in touch with him over the years, and to now sit with him in companionable silence, breathing the icy air of home. 

He’d only just arrived that morning, but Arya can certainly appreciate his immediate desire for some peace and quiet within the snow-covered garden. 

He can’t get any of that in King’s Landing. 

“Arya, I asked what’s on your mind?” 

She blinks and nudges him playfully. 

“Nothing on my mind, silly.” 

“You sure about that?” 

That’s the thing about her younger brother. For whatever reason, it feels wrong to lie to him. 

“Ugh, no, but before I tell you, you promise not to judge?”

It’s a pointless request to make, considering her brother’s entire persona revolves around neutrality and facts. But it’s been so long since Arya’s confided in anyone who wasn’t paid to listen to her that she feels the need to confirm. 

Bran doesn’t seem to take offense, folding his hands on his lap and indicating that he’s prepared to listen. 

Arya tells him everything. 

Starting from the moment she first found out Gendry was living in Winterfell to his incredible attentiveness towards her all the way to his sudden decision to avoid her like the plague. 

Bran remains completely focused on her, but at times his gaze wavers somewhere above her head and a wistful expression crosses his stoic face.

When she finishes talking, there’s a long stretch of silence but Arya doesn’t mind. She feels unburdened in a way she hasn’t in a long time. Her insistence that nothing will ever happen between her and Gendry has left her mentally and emotionally exhausted. 

There has been no one else she could trust with this information, her pride preventing her from opening up to Sansa given her concerns about Arya hurting Gendry. So, no matter what Bran’s reaction and advice might be, at least she’s finally gotten it off her chest. 

“You’re going to have to talk to him.” 

“I thought you might say that.” 

The idea of confronting Gendry makes her stomach churn with nerves. She gazes down at the ground, finding a sudden interest in the small pile of snow gathered at her feet. 

“I had feelings for someone once.” Bran’s words intrigue her enough to make her look at him again, “and I didn’t tell him how I felt.” 

All these years, her brother has never mentioned being interested in anyone, but she’s always held out hope that her brother would find companionship, if not love. 

“So, he married someone else.” 

Arya is intimately acquainted with the shift of expressions on Bran’s face, which is the only reason she can see the regret he’s trying so hard to conceal. It compels her to reach forward and place a hand on top of his clasped ones. 

It’s a small gesture but she can tell he appreciates it by the way his eyes flicker down to his lap and then back up to her face. 

“I know you think you don’t deserve happiness, Arya, or love for that matter, but you do.” 

She’s not expecting his words or the rush of emotion that accompanies them. 

“We all do.” She counters, because it needs to be said. 

“But it’s more than that. This isn’t about me. It’s about Gendry and making sure he knows that he can trust me. That I won’t hurt him ever again. At least, I’ll try not to.” 

Bran slides one hand from underneath hers to lightly grasp her wrist. 

“And how is that not love?”

As if to prove his words, her heart tightens unexpectedly, and she swallows thickly, mind suddenly reeling. 

She’d known after she lost her virginity to Gendry that their relationship could never be platonic again, but love? 

Does she love him in that way again? Is she in love with Gendry? 

She’s only just started to accept that some part of her has never truly stopped caring for the first boy who ever saw underneath her and had loved her anyway. Who has grown into a man that has repeatedly shown her kindness she doesn’t deserve. 

But love? 

The very thought makes her palms sweat and her pulse quicken. 

Arya’s not sure she’s ready for love, doesn’t know if she’s even capable of it after the hell she’s been through in the last year. 

And Gendry deserves to be loved truly and wholeheartedly, without reservation. 

He also deserves her honesty. She owes it to them both to clear the air. 

“I hate it when you and Sansa are right.” She eventually says, but there’s no real malice in her voice. It’s difficult to be angry when all her siblings want is the best for her. 

“What can I say,” Bran’s face grows smug, “it’s a gift.” 

Arya snorts at him, which Bran finds equally amusing, his face breaking into a rarely seen smile. 

In turn, she loops her arm around his and rests her chin on his shoulder. It’s a familiar pose for them and one that she hopes brings her baby brother as much comfort as it does for her. 

“Will you tell me about him sometime? The man you loved.” 

He stills at her request, but it’s brief. Then he’s looking down at her with determination. 

“Will you tell me what made you come home?” 

Arya can’t even be mad at him for asking.

Bran is someone who thrives on information and she’s given him only the bare minimum. With his government connections, he could easily find out what happened to her on his own, but the fact that he hasn’t sways her a bit. 

“Maybe, eventually.” 

Her vague promise seems to appease him. Bran smiles at her before turning back to gaze at the Weirwood tree again. 

Despite his calm demeanor, Arya can sense the invisible weight their conversation has placed on his shoulders. 

He needs a distraction. 

“Want to get high and watch Blue Planet?” 

Bran practically sighs in relief. 

“Thought you’d never ask.”

xxx

It takes her two days to get Gendry alone. 

Bran has brought along his head of security, Brienne Tarth and his personal assistant, Podrick Payne, who are both long-time family friends. As a result, there’ve been many late nights spent talking, drinking and reminiscing. 

The house is buzzing with a renewed sort of energy that reminds Arya of how it used to be when her parents would throw elaborate holiday parties. 

The Stark kids would have free reign of the house, playing hide and seek, pilfering food from the kitchen, and challenging each other to steal presents from underneath the tree without getting caught. 

It comforts Arya quite a bit, despite the mess in her head. 

It’s late now. Pretty much everyone has retired for the night, but the light in the garage is still on. 

From where Arya stands, leaning against the doorway, she can see Gendry is hard at work loading wood planks into his truck.

Through the open garage door, she can see past the courtyard and into the inky blackness of the surrounding forest. 

As a kid, she spent hours exploring it; at one point, could probably estimate the exact number of trees that made up the neighboring wood. 

One winter, they had several wolf sightings, after which her mother explicitly forbade her from venturing out on her own. 

But Arya, of course, never heeded her warning. 

She’s never been afraid of wolves anyway. It’s the Stark family sigil after all, and her old babysitter, Mrs. Mordane, always did comment rather dryly that Arya was more wolf than she was human. 

It wasn’t intended as a compliment, but Arya took it as one. She still feels a certain kinship with the wild beasts. Even though her perception of them has changed quite a bit. 

She used to view them as beacons of adventure, of the hunt. After seeing so much of the world and experiencing the worst and best of humanity, Arya recognizes that wolves are as much creatures of habit as any other. They venture out and explore new territories but they always return home, to their pack. 

It’s what brought her home as well – her pack. 

Although, she did not anticipate seeing anyone aside from Sansa and Jon, as her eyes flicker to Gendry, she thinks it may not be a coincidence that he ended up in Winterfell at the same time as her. 

Maybe, this was meant to happen all along. 

The man in question appears to have finished his task and is now staring into the courtyard as well. Arya takes this as her cue to make her presence known. 

She does so as loudly as possible, aware that Gendry absolutely hates when someone sneaks up on him. 

He turns around as he hears her approach, and their eyes lock instantly. A shiver runs involuntarily down her spine as Arya absorbs that familiar singularity of his blue gaze. 

Gendry’s eyes have always been one of her favorite things about him. She could always tell exactly what he was feeling just by looking at them. 

Something heavy and uncomfortable coils in the pit of her belly as Arya realizes that for once, she has no clue what he is thinking.

“Hey.” 

“Uh, hi.” 

A flash of what Arya thinks is guilt crosses his face and he glances briefly at the ground.

“Fancy a drink?” 

She pushes on, trying to affect a casual air as she leans against the side of the truck. 

Gendry looks a bit like he doesn’t understand the question, and Arya has to bite her lip to keep from smiling. He’s always been a little slow on the uptake. 

“I honestly don’t know of any pubs open this late on a weekday.” 

Arya feels quite triumphant that it’s not a flat-out refusal. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

She walks up to him and sets the two beer bottles she grabbed from the kitchen onto the truckbed.  
“That’s why I brought the pub to us.” 

Gendry’s gaze alternates between her and the peace offering for several minutes, before he relents and grabs one of the bottles. 

“How can I refuse Storm’s Brew? It would be very unpatriotic of me.” 

Arya hops onto the back of the truck and twists the cap of her own bottle. 

“Good, because I’m pretty sure Sansa keeps them stocked especially for you.”

Gendry maneuvers himself to sit next to her, and the heat from his body throws into stark contrast the icy draft emanating from the open garage door. It veers her so completely off course, Arya almost doesn’t hear him address her.

“Not a fan of this beer then?” he asks, alluding to her previous comment.

“Not a fan of any beer in general,” she shrugs and looks ahead, certain she will give herself away if she looks at him, “I don’t drink much.” 

“Same here.” 

But they both take a sip at almost the same time, and the beer sends a pleasant warmth through her. 

“This is good though.” 

“Yeah, it is.” Gendry agrees, “my sister Bella used to date the owner, so we had cases of this stuff for months. Haven’t had it in ages though.” 

The mention of Gendry’s half-sibling reminds Arya that she doesn’t know anything about what he’s been up to in the last ten years. 

She knows he has a sister, two in fact, and a brother somewhere out there, but that’s the extent of her knowledge. 

Hopefully, it’s a conversation they can have in the future; provided he wants to talk to her again. 

Gendry seems to mistake her silence for disinterest, because he changes the subject. 

“I’m almost done with the carvings by the way. I’ll attach them in the next day or so, and text you a picture when it’s finished.” 

“Oh, so you do still have a phone.” 

Arya doesn’t mean for it to come out quite so derisively, but once it’s out there, she doesn’t regret it. 

Gendry peels his eyes away from the beer bottle to look at her, the question at the tip of his tongue.

“You haven’t returned any of my calls or texts in the last week. I just assumed you lost it.” 

“I’ve been busy,” is the lame excuse he gives her, and although she has zero pull, it nicks something inside her all the same.

Much as Arya can’t quell the renewed attraction she feels for the man next to her, she can’t contain her annoyance with him either. 

“Oh really?” She asks, not believing him for a second, “so, it has nothing to do with me then? I didn’t do anything to piss you off?” 

Gendry seems to have a much better handle on his emotions. The only indication that he’s struggling with his temper is how tightly his fist curls around the bottle. 

“Don’t you think you’re about ten years too late in asking that?” 

Arya isn’t prepared for how much his comment hurts.

It makes her feel more exposed and vulnerable than she is comfortable with and prompts her to put some space between them. 

“Okay.” 

She hops off the truckbed, and dusts off her jeans, preparing to walk away, but Gendry isn’t ready to let her go.

“Okay?” He says to her back, “that’s it? That’s all you have to say?” 

The hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she hears his subsequent smirk. It’s tinged with so much bitterness, it forces her to turn around and look at him.

This time, Gendry doesn’t bother putting up a farce. 

The mix of sadness and anger he exposes steals Arya’s breath away. He’s letting her see exactly how much she’s hurt him, and continues to hurt him, which puts her on the defense. 

“What do you want me to say, Gendry?” 

“An apology would be nice.” 

He’s clearly had time to think on what he would say if this conversation ever happened, but Arya can’t give him what he wants. 

“I’m not sorry I left.” She tells him plainly, because it’s true. Gendry’s face hardens as he almost physically recoils from her. 

It’s in this moment that Arya fully confronts just how well she knows Gendry and always will. 

She can clearly track his thought process, can pinpoint the exact moment he reaches the most erroneous conclusion of all. 

“That didn’t come out right.”

Despite his anger, Gendry presses his lips into a thin line and doesn’t interrupt. 

Arya takes a breath and steps forward, knowing she has to get this right if she has any hope of salvaging this conversation, and by extension, whatever murky relationship they have now. 

“I’m not sorry that I left, but I _ am sorry _ that I hurt you in the process.” 

Her hand itches to reach forward and touch him, any part of him. It’s a wish that settles uncomfortably inside her, because she’s never been a tactile person. 

But Gendry is different. He always has been. 

“You didn’t even say goodbye.” 

It’s true; she hadn’t even left him a note. While she has regretted that part ever since, Arya knows exactly why she didn’t. 

Maybe, it is time for Gendry to know too. 

“The things you made me feel back then. I didn’t know how to make sense of them.” 

Gendry looks like he’s surprised by her honesty, but it’s not enough to appease him. 

“So, you ran?” 

“I did.” 

Despite her firm stance, Arya feels an acute sense of shame when Gendry lowers his eyes to the ground again, shoulders sagging just a bit. 

“But at the time, I thought I was making the right decision. I knew I needed to go, and if I had tried to say goodbye, I would have chickened out.” 

Gendry looks up at her sharply, defiance setting his posture straight again. 

“I wouldn’t have tried to convince you to stay.”

He seems so certain in his conviction that Arya’s heart cracks just a little. She’s not so sure she agrees. 

“You wouldn’t have? Really?” 

She takes another step forward, her thigh now nearly brushing the side of his knee. Neither of them notices. 

“Really.” 

She had hoped they could forge a new friendship, find a new normal without having to address everything that has happened between them. But she sees now that it’s not possible, so there’s no reason to hold back. 

After all, honesty has never done more harm than lying by omission. 

“Gendry, you’d asked me to move with you to Storm’s End after one week together. Granted, it was an epic week, but still. I was barely 18, and I had just gotten accepted into my dream school. What did you expect from me?” 

Gendry hops off the truckbed and ends up so close, Arya can _feel_ his frustrated exhale on her skin.

“And the girl I had been in love with for _ years,_ one I was certain I could never get, had just admitted to me that she was in love with me too. What did _you_ expect from _me_?” 

The impact of his confession is only intensified by the way he practically towers over her, and her heart starts to race. 

The conversation is clearly slipping away from her. Arya knows that the longer they stand like this, the more likely it will be that she’s going to do something incredibly stupid like kiss him. 

She takes a breath to settle herself, but his scent – the unique blend of wood and leather that seems to follow him everywhere - catapults her back to all those years ago. 

Flashbacks come to her in rapid succession – the feel of his lips against her neck, the firmness of his muscles beneath her grip, the way he’d looked so lovingly at her as he slid inside her for the first time.

Of course, she never would have left if she didn’t do it in the middle of the night. How could she, when even now, after mere months back in his orbit, she’s lightheaded all over again. 

“I didn’t expect anything, Gendry.” She finally says into the space between them, gaze trained on his chest, “but I also knew that if I saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to leave.”

“And now?” 

His voice drops an octave lower, and Arya’s eyes automatically travel up from his chest, past his throat and mouth, to meet his gaze. 

When did the blue of his iris get so dark? 

“Now, I don’t feel a need to run.” 

Gendry looks at her like he didn’t expect this level of openness, and it only serves to increase her desire to grab him by the back of his neck and pull his mouth to hers. 

It feels like there’s an invisible magnet between them, a force that keeps drawing them closer and Arya’s not entirely sure she wants to fight it.

Not when it’s making her feel more like herself, more _ alive _ than she has felt in ages. 

Arya sees the exact moment the same thought crosses Gendry’s mind, and a brief thrill shoots through her at the possibility.

What if? 

What if he leans forward and kisses her?

What if they stop trying to explain away the invisible thread that keeps tying them together and just act on it? 

She almost leans forward, body pulled in the same direction as her mind, but then… 

Gendry takes the step back, breaking the trance between them. He keeps looking at her though, as if he’s searching for a sign of something on her face. 

Arya’s not sure if he finds it, but his words touch her anyway. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

Then he smiles at her, a genuine, full on smile. It makes their interaction more manageable, no longer making Arya feel like they’re on the precipice of something absolutely reckless. 

The urge still lingers, but at least now her mind is clear enough that she can return to the reason she sought him out in the first place. 

“Does this mean you’ll stop screening my calls?” 

Gendry’s smile instantly turns apologetic. 

“I’ll do you one better. You free for lunch sometime this week?” 

The invitation is a surprise but it fills her with hope all the same. 

“I can pencil you in.” 

Gendry looks like he barely suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, but beneath that, Arya also sees relief. 

They might not be ready for the next step, but at least they’ve gotten past this hurdle. They’ve acknowledged their past and it might have opened the door for something new, something better. 

“It’s the least I can do for being a shitty friend.” 

She says nothing to contradict Gendry’s statement, but her disappointment is palpable. 

Later that night, when she’s awoken not by a nightmare, but by an incredibly vivid dream of strong but firm hands bracketing her hips and lips skimming her inner thigh while a pair of entrancing blue eyes watch her, Arya knows with certainty that being just friends with Gendry is the last thing she wants.

xxx


	8. late night feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s absolutely no guarantee that Arya won’t disappear again. 
> 
> He's keenly aware that his desire to believe her, to trust her, has slowly begun to overtake the more rational, cautious part of him. 
> 
> And he’s doing jackshit to stop it. 
> 
> Whether that makes him the bravest man in Winterfell or the stupidest, Gendry doesn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't thank you all enough for the comments on the last chapter. This story is so special to me and your insightful feedback has been just absolutely the bees knees. I promise it won't take me another two weeks to update. Chapter title is from Mark Ronson's album of the same name, which I listened to on repeat for months. As always, I don't own anything. I hope you enjoy!

“Gendry, c’mon.” 

“No.” 

“Please.” 

“Arya, no.” 

If someone had told Gendry even three months prior that he’d be spending Christmas Eve trying – and failing – to stop a stubborn Arya Stark from pulling him into one of her schemes, he would’ve told that person to get checked out by a neurologist. 

But that’s exactly where Gendry finds himself that evening, leaning against the kitchen counter and trying to bite back a smile as Arya huffs at him impatiently.

Per Sansa’s request, they’re all a little bit dressed up and Gendry’s immeasurably grateful for this playful argument since it serves as a distraction from the generous expanse of skin revealed by the low neckline of Arya’s top. 

The shirt itself is purple, lacey and tight, accentuating the slender curve of her waist, and the swell of her breasts. Between that and her hair being up, he couldn’t stop looking at her all throughout dinner. 

Both Sansa and Bran had definitely noticed, but neither said anything; not that Gendry even cares at this point. 

Since their conversation in the garage, he’s realized that all his efforts to avoid Arya, and by extension his growing feelings for her, are completely and utterly useless. 

He hadn’t known how much he actually needed to hear her say the words, to confirm out loud that she has no plans to leave again. 

He may not agree with her decisions back then, but there’s nothing he can do about the past. 

The future, however, has him worried. There’s absolutely no guarantee that Arya won’t disappear again. 

He's keenly aware that his desire to believe her, to trust her, has slowly begun to overtake the more rational, cautious part of him. And he’s doing jackshit to stop it. 

Whether that makes him the bravest man in Winterfell or the stupidest, Gendry doesn’t know.

What he does know is that it’s only gotten more difficult to deny what his heart and mind are now firmly aligned on. 

He wants Arya, and he’s pretty sure she wants him too. At least judging by the furtive glances and lingering smiles she’s been sending his way ever since. 

Even now, as she glares at him in mock annoyance, he can still see the twinkle in her eye. 

That’s the other thing that’s happened. 

Ever since their talk, Arya seems lighter somehow. She’s quicker with a smile and is noticeably more tactile. Not just with him, but also with her siblings. 

At first, Gendry thought it might just be her happiness at seeing her younger brother again after so long apart. 

But on several occasions, he’s caught Arya just openly admiring him from across the room; eyes the color of slate and absolutely captivating, and he knows it’s not just wishful thinking.

It makes him feel reckless, thrilled in a way that he hasn’t felt in _ages._

If there’s one thing he knows about Arya, it’s that she always, always gets what she wants…and if it’s him in this case, then it’s not a matter of if, but of when. 

The rush of arousal that typically follows this acknowledgement is what finally snaps Gendry out of his thoughts. 

Well, that and the woman in question poking his shoulder with a lot more force than necessary.

“Ouch, would you quit it?” 

He swats at her hand lightly, but Arya is undeterred. 

“No, I will not quit it. Not, until you agree to take the bet.” 

“I’m not consenting to this.” 

“But why not? It’ll be fun.” 

Gendry can’t help but laugh at the earnest expression on her face. Some part of him actually considers agreeing to her asinine idea. If only so he can keep this rare joy on her face, but in this particular case, his rational side wins. 

“Arya, there’s literally nothing I’d want to do _less_ than agree to a bet that has a 50% chance of ending with me running naked across the most sacred part of your family estate in sub-zero weather.” 

Arya smiles and takes several calculating steps forward, effectively trapping him against the counter. It feels all too much like he’s an insect being lured into a spider’s web. 

“I think you’re looking at it all wrong.”

“Oh, am I?” 

He croaks out, trying rather hard not to betray the effect she has on him. 

“Yes. This bet also gives you a 50% chance of seeing me naked.” 

If there was even a remote possibility that Arya was oblivious to the tension between them, Gendry is now fully convinced that she knows exactly what she’s doing. 

He has half the mind to suggest another much more reliable way he can see her naked, but he doesn’t, not yet. 

“I guess I’m just a glass half-empty kinda guy.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

Arya responds almost instantly, her tone betraying her bravado. 

One sweep over her face tells him that she’s having just as much trouble fighting the magnetic pull between them. It’s what ultimately snaps his resolve and Gendry raises his hand up, itching to touch her. 

Before he can though, the sound of footsteps stops him. 

A second later, Podrick appears in the kitchen doorway.

Arya’s instincts are much sharper, so by the time the other man sees them, she’s already turned around, feigning interest in the platter of cookies on the counter.

The hand Gendry had intended to bury in her hair lands on the back of his own neck, and he smiles ruefully at Podrick. 

“Out of popcorn already?” 

Podrick nods and turns to retrieve the microwavable packets from the cupboard. 

“Yup, what are you guys doing? Bored by the holiday favorites already?” 

He has his back to them, but even so, Gendry doesn’t dare look at Arya. With the moment broken, he finds himself suddenly questioning what almost happened. 

“Oh no, not at all. I was just trying to get Gendry here to agree to a bet on the gender of Sansa’s baby, but he’s being a wuss.” 

Despite the humor in her voice, when Gendry does eventually lock eyes with her, he can tell that Arya is similarly shaken. 

He would have kissed her had they not been interrupted, and the implication seems to have startled both of them. 

They continue to stare at each other, unsure of how to proceed, until Podrick pops the bag into the microwave and turns to face them. 

“What kind of bet? Maybe I can get in on it?” 

Arya chuckles in response and picks up the platter of cookies, eyes skating over to Gendry’s even though she’s not actually addressing him. 

“This bet is especially reserved for Gendry but his window of opportunity to accept is quickly closing. Maybe you can convince him.” 

She raises her eyebrow subtly, as if in challenge, before walking past him and out of the kitchen. 

When they’re alone, Podrick opens his mouth to speak but Gendry simply holds up his hand and picks up the beers he’d been sent to procure in the first place. 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” 

The other man smirks. 

“Nope, not when it comes to you and Arya.” 

Gendry stops to ask what Podrick means, but then decides against it. 

The other man’s amused smile doesn’t tell Gendry anything he doesn’t already know. 

xxx 

The thing about him and Arya is that before anything romantic ever happened between them, they were friends. Best friends even. 

Sure, it had been Sansa who introduced him to the family, but it was Arya who made him stay. 

Sansa had been new to the school and Gendry wasn’t all that popular so they’d been paired up to work on a history assignment. 

Back then, Sansa had been a bit haughty and status obsessed, but still held herself to a higher standard of politeness than most people. So, she’d invited him over to her house to study. 

Gendry could not have predicted how drastically his life would change as a result of her tepid offer.

He remembers marveling at the grandiosity of their home. 

At the time, he’d been living with Tobho and his wife in a modest two-bedroom apartment, and hadn’t even seen a two-story home before, let alone a mansion the likes of which Ned Stark rented for himself and his daughters. 

He remembers quiet clearly stepping into the massive foyer and immediately zeroing in on the dark-haired girl in the dirty football uniform. She was standing right in front of the big staircase, arguing with a tall man who Gendry had assumed was Sansa’s father. 

He appeared to be the other girl’s father as well, given how patiently he listened to her rant. 

Before Sansa even had a chance to make proper introductions, the girl had paused mid-sentence and point-blank asked Gendry who he was. 

He was instantly amused by the 12-year-old with suspicious eyes and a fiery attitude, smiling widely at her even as Sansa reprimanded her sister for her rudeness. 

He’d been so distracted by the entire interaction, Gendry almost missed the complete look of bewilderment and shock on Ned Stark’s face. 

It wasn’t until much later that he learned why the politician had looked at him like he’d seen a ghost. 

Even at 15, Gendry had already started to resemble Robert Baratheon in ways that could not be ignored. 

He tries not to think about how complicated the ensuing months became. 

How mortified Robert had been to learn of his existence and the fact that he’d been in foster homes for the better part of six years. 

To his credit, Robert tried his best to engage with him, but Gendry could never fully accept his father. It didn’t help whatsoever that he could not stand Robert’s wife, Cersei, or their eldest son, Joffrey, who was an abusive prick. 

Gendry had to eventually intervene when he’d spotted way too many bruises on Sansa’s wrists and once even on her face, courtesy of his despicable half-brother. Even though she had refused to speak to him for months, he never regretted going to Ned with his concerns. 

What he does regret is not bashing Joffrey’s face in sooner, but more importantly, not giving his own father a chance. 

He’s wondered many times over the years what it would have been like if Ned and Robert hadn’t gone on their annual fishing trip, or if he’d accepted the invitation to join them. Perhaps, then things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did. Two families broken by a bout of shitty weather. 

He’d gone from meeting his father, to hating him, to then losing him all within the span of two years. Worse than that, he’d had to witness the devastation that befell the Starks as a result of Ned’s death. 

It bonded him to the family in ways Gendry couldn’t have predicted when he accepted Sansa’s offer to study. It’s perhaps why he’d taken it so personally when Arya ran away, and when Sansa decided to move back home. 

Kings Landing was now full of painful memories, reminders of how it was _before_ around every corner. Still, he would have dealt with it, accepted that just like all the other good things in his life, his ties to Arya and Sansa would eventually be severed anyway. 

He would have coped. 

But, then Catelyn, Robb and Rickon died. Bran was suddenly bed ridden, and Gendry was packing his bags and moving from the only home he’d ever known to a place that was freezing on a good day. 

It’d taken him a while to realize it – that in one seemingly casual afternoon he hadn’t just found his father, but also inherited an entire _family_. One that accepted him without hesitation. 

All because Arya had taken one look at him and decided that he was a member of her pack. 

Whatever happened between them later couldn’t erase that. 

It’s tough for Gendry not to feel grateful for that as he spends the week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve at the Stark Manor. 

As he taste tests various batches of cookies for Sansa, works out with Brienne and Arya, and watches obscure documentaries with Bran and Podrick. 

It’s tough not to think about how much he enjoys Arya’s company specifically. Especially when he takes her out for lunch and they spend the entire time making up stories about the people around them. 

It’s tough for him not to think about how badly he wants her when she calls him from the doctor’s office to tell him that Sansa is having a girl, and he belatedly realizes that he should have taken that bet, because he would have _won_.

And it takes everything in his power not to melt right into her arms when she hugs him after they present Sansa with her Christmas gift. 

It’s a custom made mobile with an antique bronze base that took Arya forever to track down. 

The hand carved figurines of sigils from all the great houses of Westeros took Gendry weeks to get right. Watching Sansa marvel at each one, reverently inspecting the design makes it all worth it. 

“We did a good thing,” Arya had said after she pulled away. 

Despite the undercurrent of tension, Gendry had been certain in that moment that she had no ulterior motive for invading his personal space. He could see the satisfaction on her face as she observed how touched Sansa was by the gift. 

“No, you did. I just provided free labor.” 

“You did more than that.” She’d said quite seriously, and he’d had to swallow past the sudden dryness in his throat when she clarified, “you _do_ more than that.” 

Gendry hadn’t really known what Arya meant by that, but it felt like yet another step towards _something._

Specifically what, he wasn’t sure, but the more time they spent together, the more frenetic his thoughts became. 

It was starting to feel like torture to be in Arya’s vicinity without knowing exactly where she stood with him. 

Yet, he didn’t want to push. 

For one, he still wasn’t sure if he could trust her. The other more pressing fact giving him pause was his absolute awareness that Arya was hiding something major inside.

Although she was smiling more, Gendry wasn’t stupid enough to believe that whatever had brought her home, whatever demons were chasing her, had gone away. 

This is never more apparent to him than when he heads downstairs late one night to get a glass of water, and finds Arya sitting at the kitchen island, staring blankly into the mug in her hands. 

He’d been asked – more like bullied – by Sansa to crash at the manor until after New Year’s and isn’t used to walking down a flight of stairs just to quench his thirst. 

It’s why her presence initially catches him off guard. As he steps further into the kitchen though, most of his blood travels south at an alarming rate when he sees that all she’s wearing is a t-shirt.

It’s a different from the one he’d seen her in that one morning, but the effect is still the same. 

He feels an unmistakable rush of heat as he takes in the smooth pale skin of her thighs, catalogues the faint outline of muscle along her calf, tracing it all the way down to the delicate arch of her foot. 

The electric blue polish adorning her toes catches his eye. Gendry looks up, intending to tease her but whatever he was going to say dies on the tip of his tongue as Arya meets his gaze.

She looks just as surprised to see him, but beneath that, there’s a maelstrom of emotion he can’t quite parse out but that worries him all the same. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

He asks carefully and goes in search of a glass, giving her the privacy to answer. 

“Something like that.” 

Gendry fights the urge to look at her as he runs the procured glass under the tap. 

As much as he absolutely hates that he’s inadvertently likened Arya to a frightened animal, he has the strong suspicion that one wrong move on his part will scare her away. He rounds the kitchen island slowly, stopping in front of the empty stool next to hers. 

“Mind if I?” 

Arya doesn’t object, which he takes as an invitation to sit down. 

Eventually, she does speak, and the self-deprecation in her tone sounds unnatural. 

“I’m sorry, I might actually not be such good company tonight.” 

“It’s ok.” 

And it is, because he’s completely content just sitting next to her. While the thought should scare him shitless, it doesn’t. 

In recent weeks, he’s begun to accept that caring about Arya Stark is as innate to him as breathing, and there’s nothing he can do about it other than embrace it. 

Especially, when she looks like she could use someone to lean on. 

“Today is, um, a year since my partner, in my unit, died.”

She continues to stare into the bottom of her mug, as if she’s searching for answers.

“His name was Sandor Clegane. We’d been partners for three years.” 

The name sounds familiar to Gendry, like he’d heard it somewhere before, but he ignores the niggling feeling for the moment. 

“What happened to him?” 

Arya noticeably tenses at the question, finally looking at him from the corner of her eye. The trace of fear he sees there makes Gendry wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

“He was killed on the job but I’m not, I really-…”

She looks physically pained at the prospect of continuing, and Gendry wants so badly to help her, to guide her along, but he holds back.

He hadn’t had a clear picture of why she returned home, but with this bit of information, it’s all starting to make a bit more sense; including how reticent she is to open up. 

“I’m sorry I just don’t want to talk about it.” 

Arya lets out a heavy sigh, which causes her t-shirt to slip over one bare shoulder. Gendry doesn’t even realize he’s reaching for her until his palm settles over impossibly soft, impossibly warm skin. 

The fact that she doesn’t flinch at the contact, and actually relaxes into his touch sends an inconvenient spark of arousal straight to his groin. 

“It’s alright.” 

Arya looks at him like she doesn’t believe him, and it helps him refocus. 

“Seriously, Arya. I get it. It’s shitty to talk about stuff like that, but I’m here if and when you’re ready.” 

He should really leave it at that. 

She looks more at ease now, and that was the intention all along. 

But he’s still touching her and now his thumb is stroking over her collarbone, and Arya looks like she doesn’t mind it one bit. So, Gendry can’t quite stop himself from saying more. 

“Even if you never tell me, it won’t make a difference. I’m still going to care about you.” 

Arya’s eyes grow wide, gray almost entirely disappearing. He swears he sees a spark of longing there but it’s replaced much too quickly with indecision for him to be certain. 

Gendry isn’t surprised. This is the most straight forward he’s been with her since she came back. 

But he refuses to take it back. 

She has to know that he doesn’t hold her past against her. That while he still has some trust issues to deal with, he’s already started to forgive her for leaving back then and is much more interested in moving forward. 

Whether as lovers, friends, or something more. He knows which one he wants, but the decision is up to her. 

Judging by the poorly concealed apprehension on her face, Arya doesn’t seem to know what she wants at the moment. For once, Gendry thinks his presence is only making things more confusing for her. 

With that in mind, it’s lot easier for him to remove his hand from her shoulder and push the stool back so he can get up without brushing the entirety of his thighs along her bare knees. 

“I’m gonna go to bed. You’ll be okay?” 

At this angle, Arya has to crane her head up to meet his gaze. 

For a brief, indulgent moment, Gendry wonders if she’s going to lean up and kiss him. He thinks about how she would taste. 

Would he recognize it?

He desperately wants to find out. 

But Arya just smiles wanly at him instead. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right behind you.”

He nods and finally moves out of her space. 

They don’t say anything as he heads to the sink, rinses out his glass, and puts in the dishwasher. 

It’s only when he’s at the door that Gendry chances a glance back. Arya is perched on the edge of the stool, legs uncrossed as if she’s ready to leap towards him at any moment. 

He wishes her good night despite every muscle in his body telling him to stay. 

xxx


	9. pray for the wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment is broken. And yet oddly enough, a sense of relief washes over her. 
> 
> It’s pretty evident by the hungry way Gendry’s staring at her that he’s just as close to falling over the edge as she is. While they can’t go yet, it feels almost like an unspoken agreement. 
> 
> There's no way in hell they’re leaving here without each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even begin to describe how grateful I am for those sticking with this story! 
> 
> This one's for jenrk for her constant reminders to stay true to my narrative; and to all of you who keep blowing me away with your insightful feedback. I can't thank you enough!
> 
> Chapter title stolen from Panic! at the Disco, characters on temporary retainer from GRRM. As always, I hope you all enjoy!

She’s in the middle of a half-hearted debate with Bran about the latest episode of Black Mirror when Sansa waltzes into the room, Gendry and Brienne trailing not too far behind. 

Her sister makes a show of dropping a stack of fancy looking invitations on top of the coffee table, but Arya barely notices. 

Her eyes zero in on Gendry, and she immediately regrets skipping their early morning workout in favor of sleeping in. 

His shirt sticks to his torso and the thick cords of muscle looping around his biceps are enough for Arya to feel a little hotter than she did a moment ago. 

Eventually, she looks up to his face. The smirk that greets her tells her she’s been caught. 

He doesn’t seem to mind though, returning her ogling with his own appreciative sweep.

“What’s this?”

Bran’s question forces her to tear her eyes away from Gendry. 

“One of my clients is doing a soft opening of his restaurant tonight and gave me free passes as a thank you.” 

“I thought we were going to spend New Year’s Eve here, just us?” 

Sansa deflates just a bit, and Arya mentally kicks herself for the snap comment. 

“We were, but this could be fun. There’s going to be lots of good food, music, and not too many annoying people, I promise. Plus, you can see some of my design work.”

“That does sound fun,” Bran says encouragingly, and Arya shoots him a look. He appears to be just as on the fence about this but is willing to appease their very pregnant sister. 

“C’mon, Arya. You don’t have to stay too long, and this might be my last chance to go to a fancy party for a while.” 

Sansa purposefully rests her hand atop her burgeoning bump, and Arya knows she’s being manipulated. On the other hand, she hasn’t seen Sansa be this excited about something in a while, so… 

“Alright, but I get to wear whatever I want.” She warns with a finger pointed at her sister. 

“Deal,” Sansa practically squeals as she swipes a half-eaten bagel off Arya’s plate. 

“Be ready at 8pm sharp.” She adds before bounding out of the room and leaving Arya scowling at her sudden lack of carbs. 

“Anyone need anything from the kitchen?” Brienne asks a moment later. 

“No, but I do need to make a few phone calls. Do you mind giving me a lift to father’s study?” 

As soon as Bran asks, Brienne moves to unlock his chair break. 

“Of course, sir.” 

He is usually self-sufficient, but not when there’s a bowl of Lucky Charms in his possession. 

Something about it makes Arya forget that her brother is one of the most powerful men in Westeros. She watches fondly as Brienne wheels him out, amidst his polite requests that she really try not call him sir anymore. 

“So, this party…” 

Gendry’s voice jolts her out of her musings. At some point, he’d made his way over to her side of the couch, perching himself on the arm, and they’re impossibly close now. 

If Arya moves just an inch to her left, she could rest her head against his hip. The entire left side of her body is _very_ aware of their proximity. 

“Yeah, you going?”

“I didn’t think it was optional.” 

Arya can’t help but smile at that. It’s a lot easier to do that these days, and there’s no denying that Gendry is a big part of that. 

Even two nights ago, when she was struggling with the anniversary of the horrible day that Sandor died, he had somehow managed to lessen the ache. 

He hadn’t done much, simply let her be, but that’s exactly what she needed in that moment. It’s yet another reminder that Gendry has always understood her on a level most people don’t. 

And it’s beyond that, he accepts her. 

The thought turns her smile into something a little foolish, a little giddy. As does the idea that he’s going to come tonight. 

He’s always made these things a little more bearable. 

Arya leans forward and examines the brightly colored invitation. 

“Looks fancy,” she comments to fill in the silence and tries not to feel disappointed when Gendry stands up. 

“I need to run a few errands and grab a change of clothes from home, but I’ll see you there?” 

“Yeah, see you.” 

He grins before walking out of the room and Arya immediately melts into the couch, expelling a breath she didn’t know she was holding. 

This man will be the death of her, she thinks, and almost wishes the thought didn’t make her as dizzy as it does. 

xxx

It’s not that Arya hates parties. She just hates being bored. 

Sadly, these types of social gatherings happen to be the epitome of boredom. 

The restaurant itself is beautiful – high ceilings adorned with gold accents; delicate chandeliers suspended over wrought iron high top tables placed strategically along the periphery of the room.

Soft but cheerful music plays from the speakers set up in each corner of the space. From her vantage point along one of the wood paneled walls, Arya can see that the horseshoe shaped bar in the middle of the room is starting to get crowded.

The overall mix of chic and rustic absolutely has her sister written all over it and as Arya spots Sansa out of the corner of her eye, flanked by Podrick on one side and a group of engaged people on the other, she can’t help but smile.

Despite everything Sansa has been through, it’s clear she’s built a name for herself doing what she loves, and it makes Arya secretly beam with pride. 

She knows their parents would be just as impressed by her sister. For once, the thought of them doesn’t make her stomach twist painfully, but it does prompt her to reflect on her own career. 

How many undercover jobs had landed her in the middle of an event like this? Sandor’s voice in her ear and her Catspaw strapped to the inside of her thigh, strategically concealed beneath whatever flimsy outfit she’d had to maneuver in that evening. 

Although her heart clenches almost painfully at the wayward thought of her partner, the nostalgia isn’t as bitter as she expects. Maybe it’s the general buzz of celebration in the air or the fact that her family is somewhere nearby, but for once, thinking of her work just makes her smile, doesn’t weigh her down like it normally would. 

At least being on the job at one of these would mean she had something better to do than stand off to the side and stifle yawns while people watching.

Her position though – which she gravitated towards naturally since it gives her a nice view of the entire room – also affords Arya a direct line of sight to the entrance. 

That’s how she knows the exact moment Gendry walks into the room. 

He hasn’t spotted her yet, and it’s good, because it gives her the few minutes necessary to pick her jaw up off the floor. 

He cuts an impressive form in the tailored blue suit and crisp white shirt. Even from this far away, she can tell he’s spent some time trimming his beard and attempting to style his tousled hair. 

That, paired with his piercing blue gaze, makes him look utterly _magnetizing._

Arya barely has the time to school her expression into something appropriate, before Gendry finally spots her. She can feel his eyes like laser beams across the room as he makes his way over. 

The closer he gets, the more unreadable his expression becomes, but there’s no denying that he’s checking her out too. The fact that he does so blatantly, without any subtlety whatsoever, sends an involuntary shiver down her spine. 

“You look…wow.” 

His voice trails off as he drinks her in, and Arya doesn’t hide her blush. It’s already hard as it is to tame the growing warmth in her belly, without having to contend with the captivating way his eyes roam her body. 

In an effort to even the playing field, she cocks her head to the side and smirks. 

“What? Never seen a girl in a dress before?” 

Gendry’s eyes instantly crinkle in amusement as he graces her with a lopsided smile that exposes the dimple on the left side of his mouth. 

The sudden urge to press her lips to it has her bridging the small gap between them. 

“Not one that pairs it so well with combat boots.” 

Gendry’s compliment finally draws her attention to her own outfit. She’s wearing a black form fitting jersey dress with a hemline that stops at mid-thigh, giving way to a pair of sheer patterned tights that go surprisingly well with her favorite boots. 

His riveted stare makes Arya feel a little bolder, a little reckless. 

“Oh yea? Well, you could have warned a girl before showing up looking like that.” 

She shouldn’t find the way his eyebrows rise in surprise to be so adorable, but she does. 

“Looking like what?” 

“Oh c’mon, you know exactly what you look like.” 

“What’s that, Arya?” 

“Sex,” she says without averting her eyes and is rewarded with the view of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, “you look like sex, Gendry.”

She feels a spark of satisfaction when the tips of his ears turn pink and he gapes at her like he didn’t expect this at all. 

It’s momentary though, and then her own skin inevitably flushes as his eyes grow dark, not hiding his attraction to her whatsoever. 

His tongue darts out to run across his bottom lip, and while Arya knows in her gut that it’s not intentional, she has to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress her groan.

“Champagne?” 

The unexpected question feels like a bucket of cold water. Arya has to hold herself back from snapping at the waiter who has suddenly appeared by their side with an overly enthusiastic smile and a tray of champagne flutes.

“No, thank you.” Gendry responds quite curtly, without even turning his head. 

Arya says nothing either.

Sensing his intrusion, the water guiltily shuffles away but it’s already too late. 

The moment is broken. And yet oddly enough, a sense of relief washes over her. 

It’s pretty evident by the hungry way Gendry’s staring at her, that he’s just as close to falling over the edge as she is, and while they can’t leave yet, it feels almost like an unspoken agreement between them. 

There’s no way in hell she’s leaving here without him tonight. 

Gendry says something but she doesn’t quite catch it. 

“Huh?” 

“I said we should go get food.” 

“Oh, yeah food. Food sounds good.” 

“This way.” 

He escorts her towards the hors d'oeuvres and Arya tries not to think about how good his hand feels on the small of her back.

xxx

At some point, they get separated. 

Sansa drags Arya away to meet some of her colleagues, and Gendry gets stuck with a group of people who look like wannabe Instagram influencers. It’s clear he wants nothing to do with them, at least judging by the ‘rescue me’ glances he keeps sending her way periodically. 

Arya doesn’t do anything to help him.

It’s just too much fun to watch him attempt small talk. 

He finally extricates himself just before midnight and sidles up to where she’s standing by the dessert table, munching on a cake pop. 

“Someone’s popular,” she teases between bites. 

Gendry shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Blame your sister. She’s the one who showed them pictures of the restoration and they wanted to meet the guy behind the measuring tape. Their words, not mine.” 

Arya opens her mouth to goad him some more but stops short at the look on his face. There’s actually something rather sweet and humbling about how uncomfortable praise makes Gendry. 

“Where’s everyone else?” 

Arya shrugs and scans the room. 

Bran is parked at a table, talking to a few stuffy looking men; Brienne lingering nearby. Pod is perched at the bar, watching fondly as Sansa entertains a group of people who seem to hang on her every word. The look in his eye is something Arya files away for later.

She has always felt just a little different from her siblings, but it’s never more apparent than in this setting, watching how both Bran and Sansa handle the social interaction with such ease. 

“I don’t know how they do it, honestly.” 

She thinks she’s said this out loud, but it’s actually Gendry who steals the words right out of her. Something warm passes through her as she looks at him and encounters understanding. 

“Me neither.” 

“Remember how our dads used to bribe us with fast food to get us to stay and not cause trouble?” 

“Yeah. I do remember.” 

It’s rare that she reflects on her time in King’s Landing fondly, but the memories Gendry references are certainly a bright spot. 

She’d almost convinced her father to let her skip the stuffy political functions he was forced to attend, but as soon as Robert found out about Gendry and started bringing him along, Arya stopped protesting her attendance. 

It wasn’t so much the promise of greasy food that kept her in line, but the tall, broody teenage boy who entertained her whimsy and never made her feel like a child. 

Arya’s about say as much, when Sansa suddenly appears in front of them. 

“There you guys are! The countdown is about to begin, c’mon.” 

Sansa motions them along, and on impulse, Arya extends her hand towards Gendry. He glances down at it briefly, before reaching forward and interlacing their fingers. 

The way he looks at her then, all heat with just a touch of nerves, leaves Arya feeling both strangely empowered and absolutely weak in the knees. 

Everyone’s already starting to count back from twenty but Arya is too distracted to participate. 

_ 19_

_18 _

_17_

_16 _

Brienne wheels Bran over to where they are, and her brother smiles widely at her, but all Arya can feel is Gendry’s eyes on her. They make the hair on the back of her neck stand up in a not unpleasant way.

_ 15_

_14 _

_13 _

_12_

_11_

_10_

Pod rushes over with an extra glass of champagne, which he offers to Arya, but she declines; already a little drunk from both the two glasses she’s had and the firmness of Gendry’s grip on her hand. 

_ 9_

_8_

_7_

_6 _

She looks over her shoulder at him, and the smile on his lips sends goosebumps down her arms. 

_ 5_

_4_

_3 _

She almost turns around, just so her intentions are clear. 

_ 2_

_1_

But at the last second, Sansa loops her arm around Arya’s, forcing her to separate from Gendry.

As everyone erupts in cheers, she feels a sudden nick of disappointment. She’s not entirely sure what she expected, but the loss of his fingers intertwined with her leaves Arya feeling bereft. 

It’s temporary though, because as soon as Sansa pulls her into a hug, Arya realizes that for the first time in years, she’s in the same place as her brother and sister, and not only that, but their family is growing.

The thought spurs her to lean down and pull Bran into a one-armed hug so all three of them are linked.

The way her siblings hang onto her and each other fills Arya with pure joy. 

They eventually pull apart and she manages to steal a hug from Pod and give Brienne a big smile, respecting the older woman’s taciturn nature. 

Through it all, she doesn’t lose sight of Gendry, and is keenly aware of when he approaches her again, gaze dropping to her lips. 

“Happy New Year, Arya.”

He leans forward and plants a kiss right to the corner of her mouth. It’s barely a brush of his lips but then he exhales right against her cheek – like he’s utterly relieved to have finally kissed her, and whatever tenuous grip Arya had on self-control shatters completely. 

Gendry makes the move to separate, but she grabs onto his forearm, keeping him close. 

“Did you drive here?” 

His eyes widen in surprise but he nods. 

“How many of those have you had?” she points to the half-empty flute in his hand.

“Just one.” 

His voice comes out thick, and Arya takes just a moment to absorb the enormity of what she’s about to do. 

Not once in the ten years that she’s been away did she think she’d have Gendry back in her life, let alone in _ this _ way. 

One look at him though, and any hesitation she has melts away, replaced by a sense of urgency she’s tired of ignoring. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

xxx

She’s not sure what to expect when they walk into Gendry’s house. 

The entire car ride was a blur – a dreamlike state of anticipation that left her feeling weightless, unfocused, dizzy – anchored only by the weight of his hand on her thigh. 

Gendry doesn’t seem to have the same problem, his movements calculated and strong as he presses her firmly against the front door as soon as he hangs their coats. 

He towers over her, his height and frame eclipsing everything but him. Him and his breath skirting along her hairline; him and his palms searing her through the fabric of her dress. 

Him and his scent – the mix of cologne and leather and wood that makes her vibrate with need. 

And yet, he still hasn’t kissed her. One look at his handsome face tells her why. 

For all his bravado, it’s evident Gendry is nervous, and it instantly clears whatever daze Arya’s been in. 

Finally giving into the need that’s been pulsating through her all night, she snakes her hand up around his neck and tugs him down for a kiss that’s entirely too fucking overdue.

Gendry groans right into her mouth and she wraps her other arm around him tightly, bringing him flush against her. 

It feels both familiar and new all at once; reminiscent of a pleasant dream that’s half-forgotten. 

And yet there’s nothing ephemeral about the way he tightens his grip on her when she runs her tongue along his bottom lip, seeking entry. 

Nothing dreamlike about the way his mouth slots against hers, like it’s been keeping the space open for her, waiting for her to return. 

They kiss for what feels like eternity; the intense explosion of passion eventually giving way to a subtle battle for dominance. The push and pull between them that’s so reminiscent of all their interactions keeps them firmly locked in an embrace that Arya never wants to end.

When they do eventually separate, she refuses to pull away completely, dragging open mouthed kisses along his cheek, his jaw, his throat; lips burning from the light scruff peppered along his skin. 

Gendry unexpectedly wedges a knee between her legs and the pressure is what finally tears her away. 

Her eyes land on his as they both pant into the tight space between them. In the dim light of the entryway, his eyes nearly smolder, but Arya still notes a trace of doubt. 

“Is this a mistake?” He presses his forehead against hers, clearly conflicted. 

And it’s not totally unreasonable. There’s so much history between them, so much _baggage. _ It’s just a little too hard to care about all of that when he’s this close to her. 

“Does it feel like a mistake?” She asks, purposefully grinding against his knee. 

“No.”

He says it so quickly, Arya would smile if her mind wasn’t so clouded with lust. But it is; and she knows if she stops to think about it for even one second, she might even agree, and she’d much rather focus on the way he nearly trembles as she kisses a line up to his ear. 

“Good.” 

She says right before sinking her teeth into the edge of his earlobe.

Gendry lets out something akin to a growl and suddenly she feels herself being hoisted up by the backs of her legs. 

Arya looks down to find his eyes glinting dangerously and doesn’t waste any time leaning down to slant her mouth over his again. He responds just as fiercely this time, clearly having let go of whatever reservations he previously had. 

They kiss until he pulls away to map a trail down her throat with his tongue. The back of her head connects with the door as he nips at the sensitive skin of her neck; the scrape of his beard making her arch against him.

But it’s not enough. It doesn’t seem like it’s ever enough with him. 

“Gendry, I –” 

Arya’s not even aware she’s talking until the kisses along her neck stop. 

“You what? What do you need?” He asks gruffly, pupils blown wide with desire. 

His voice, just verging on desperate, sends a bolt of arousal through her – nipples tightening almost uncomfortably beneath the fabric of her dress. 

“You.” She replies quickly, but it’s more an expel of breath against his shoulder.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” 

His hands press further into the junction between her thighs and her ass, and Arya involuntarily jerks against him, already searching for that delicious friction that she knows is within arm’s reach. 

“If you want me to be more coherent than that, then you’re going to have to stop touching me, and I don’t think either of us wants that.” 

Gendry smirks and shakes his head. 

“No, I suppose we don’t.”

She fully expects him to go back to kissing her but he surprises her, setting her down instead. 

She’s about to protest but then he pushes his hips against hers, letting her know _exactly_ what he wants, and then she’s helpless against him. 

Helpless against the glint in his eye, against his shameless smile, against the featherlike brush of his calloused fingers along her skin. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of her tights and pulls them down along with her underwear.

Heat pools low in her belly as she watches him drop to his knees and purposefully rub his cheek along her bare leg, before turning his attention to her boots.

He unlaces each one and helps her step out of them, gaze never once wavering from her face. 

He drops a kiss to her knee but Arya barely feels it, mind too caught up in the almost reverent way he finally divests her of her tights and underwear before standing up to his full height again. 

He doesn’t stop his torment, taking his time to run his hands up her bare legs again until they disappear beneath her dress. 

Whatever reverie she’s in unravels then and Arya pulls him down roughly, his mouth swallowing her moans as his fingers press into the naked curve of her ass. 

It’s too much though – the sensation and she pulls away from him, forehead dropping to his shoulder. 

The fabric of his suit beneath her cheek reminds her that he has far too many layers on and she decides to rectify that. She pushes his suit jacket off, then digs her fingers into the waistband of his slacks, untucking his shirt and starting to unbutton it. 

It’s the only time Gendry restrains himself, chest heaving as she unsnaps button after button until she can push it off his all too impressive shoulders. 

She greedily explores the skin at her disposal, tracing patterns across the smattering of dark hair along his pecs, brushing over his nipples and trailing down the pronounced ridges of his stomach. 

Watching his muscles clench beneath her touch reignites that dizzying need inside her. She intends to go further, hands already working his belt buckle when Gendry grabs at her again, lifting her back up against the door. 

She wraps her legs around him just as earnestly as before, but this time the press of her naked flesh against his stomach makes them both shudder. 

“Arya, fucking hells, you’re so wet.” he moans directly into her neck, and Arya can’t help bucking against him.

“Not surprised,” she says without really thinking about it, “been imagining this for weeks.” 

She leans down to kiss him again but Gendry pushes his head back to look at her, gaze impossibly darkened.

“Weeks?” he asks in a voice that’s a little too course, a little too rough. 

Arya smiles and wraps her arms tighter around his shoulders. 

“Yes, weeks.” 

He exhales sharply before practically crushing his mouth on hers. 

She fully expects him to take them to his bedroom. Or if not there, then at least a more pliable surface. Instead, Gendry deposits her onto the kitchen counter, and pulls back to look at her like it’s the first time he’s seeing her all night. 

“Can I show you what I’ve been imagining since I first saw you in just a bloody t-shirt?”

His fingers stroke her naked thighs as he says this, and it feels like all the wet heat in her body has converged between her legs. 

She nods, unable to speak. 

Gendry draws her hips to the edge of the counter, pushes her legs apart, and leans down to lick a strip up her inner thigh. 

He stops just shy of where Arya wants him and it feels like a new level of torture altogether until she glances down and sees a smile full of promise on his face. 

All she can do then is brace herself as he leans down and finally, _ finally _ puts his mouth on her. 

The first thought that runs through her mind as Gendry starts to lick at her is how fucking long it’s been since she’s felt anything like this. 

But then he pauses to give her time to adjust, and Arya knows the electricity coursing through her veins has less to do with the feel of a warm, insistent tongue and more to do with whose tongue it is. 

It seems this entire time her mind’s been a few steps behind, not fully comprehending that it’s Gendry who looked her up and down earlier tonight like he wanted to swallow her whole. 

It’s Gendry who wished her a happy new year and gave her the sweetest of kisses. 

It’s Gendry who opened the car door for her, escorted her into his home, and let her make the first move.

And it’s Gendry who has her spread wide open and is teasing her mercilessly with gentle wisps of his tongue. 

Once the reality of it all hits her, Arya shuts her eyes, head lolling back as she finally succumbs to the sensations he’s coaxing from her. 

“Gendry, fuck that feels, oh Gods…”

His tongue slips inside her at that exact moment, as if to prove that she really is at his mercy. 

Her hand shoots out to steady herself, and in the process nearly knocks over an empty bowl sitting innocently next to her.

“Careful there.” 

“Shut up.” 

Her threat comes out more like a whimper.

“Gladly.” 

She can practically feel Gendry smirk against her thigh but before she can snap at him again, he parts her with his fingers and licks right into her clit. 

Her hips nearly shoot up from the counter, and she shifts, feeling her nipples grow impossibly tight. She raises her hand up, intending to relieve the ache, but Gendry’s large palm appears seemingly out of nowhere. 

He pinches her nipple through her dress, then swipes his thumb over it, once twice, three times. 

All the while, his lips, tongue, and teeth, oh Gods, his _ teeth _ keep working at her. 

He follows no discernable pattern, sometimes hitting too rough and other times not enough. 

Somehow altogether it works. 

He’s taking the time to reacquaint himself with her body, and that realization alone causes the familiar pressure to begin growing low and steady at her core. 

She could stay here forever, balanced tightly on the knife’s edge of euphoria.

But then, his fingers start probing her slit, gathering the wetness there and massaging it right back into her skin, and her release starts to feel palpable. 

Arya sits up as much as she can, clawing at his shoulders, at his hair, at the palm fused to her breast, anything to give her some leverage against the impending explosion. 

Gendry is relentless, sliding two fingers knuckle deep inside her but not moving them until she practically begs. 

It’s only when the desperate “Gendry, please” falls from her lips that he finally curls his fingers inward and starts to stroke her in earnest. His tongue on her clit gets a little more insistent, a little more impatient, and Arya’s not sure how much time passes but in one glorious moment, it all feels so overwhelming and then… 

The pleasure hits her _hard._

She barely registers how Gendry holds her hips down, or how his tongue retreats just slightly, still on her but no longer setting the maddening pace that drove her into a frenzy in the first place. 

All she can feel is the thrum of her orgasm, nerve endings practically humming as heat pulsates from every pore in her body. 

The crest comes and goes, but the aftershocks linger like a retreating tide, overtaking her again and again until they morph into a pleasant buzz. 

Gendry rises up eventually, setting her legs down, and wiping his mouth with his thumb before he sucks it into his mouth. 

The view of him, bare chested, lips glistening from her arousal has Arya sitting up and pulling her dress over her head. 

He looks at her with a strange mix of lust and awe, and she quickly surmises that she’s not the only one who can’t quite believe that they’re here with each other. Her heart quickens again as she’s reminded that nothing about this is casual. 

She tries to blink those feelings away, instead focusing on Gendry and the way he’s visibly straining for her. His eyes flicker down, pausing on her midsection and for a moment, a bout of insecurity takes over. 

He’s probably just surprised to see the wreath of tattooed Weirwood leaves that wraps around her ribs, but Arya knows what lurks underneath. 

Physical remnants of the night she couldn’t save her partner, and barely saved herself. 

She promised herself that she wouldn’t let those thoughts ruin tonight so she pulls Gendry towards her by his belt buckle, intending to rid him of his pants.

His hand immediately reaches out to wrap around her wrist, halting her movements.

“Not here,” he explains. 

Before Arya realizes what he’s doing, she’s being lifted and carried through the darkened hallway to what she assumes is his bedroom. 

“I want a tour at some point,” she tells him matter-of-factly, and Gendry snorts, a gust of breath sending goosebumps dancing across her collarbone. 

“Yeah, at some point. Not now.” He punctuates sternly, before depositing her on his bed. 

It’s soft beneath her, infinitely softer than the hard marble counter. If she closes her eyes, she might even fall asleep, but Gendry is at the foot of bed, stripping out of his pants and then his boxers right in front of her, and Arya decides she’d like to stay awake for a little while longer. 

There’s no denying just how sexy he looks naked; all muscle, taut skin, and a cock that she doesn’t remember standing up so impressively. 

But she barely has any time to admire it all before Gendry crawls onto the bed, and then all that strength, all that corded muscle, suddenly engulfs her. 

He braces himself on one arm and reaches the other behind her to unsnap her bra. He takes too long though, and Arya shoves his hand out of the way so she can divest herself of the only remaining barrier between them faster. 

He lets her but not before sucking a hickey into her neck, which temporarily derails her. In the end, she perseveres and her heart stammers wildly as Gendry finally leans his full, naked weight on top of her. 

As soon as their torsos meet, Gendry curses and shifts against her, erection slotting perfectly against her cunt. 

It feels so beyond good, Arya doesn’t even realize his hand has disappeared between her thighs again until his fingers start teasing her slit. 

He bows on top of her, mouth searching out her nipple at the same time, and making her see stars. 

But it’s not what she needs right now.

She threads her fingers through his hair and pulls him up to eye level with her. 

“What are you doing?” 

His darkened gaze bores into her but he doesn’t stop rubbing at her, and her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head as his thumb skates over a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Not gonna last, want you to come again.” 

Gendry moves his lips towards her jaw and Arya realizes suddenly that they haven’t kissed in far too long. 

Tilting her head down, she captures his mouth in a slow, languid kiss that has them both groaning and his fingers trembling against her. 

Her hand reaches down to wrap around him, and Gendry goes still as she strokes him. 

“Stop that,” he murmurs against her lips, “I told you I won’t last long.” 

It suddenly hits Arya that even if he doesn’t know it, there’s an underlying supposition in his words that she’s just going to up and leave the second he comes. 

She reaches for his cheeks with both hands as determination seeps in.

“You asked me earlier what I need.” 

“Yeah?”

“Well, I _need_ you to fuck me now, and not with your fingers. Everything else, we’ll have time for later.” 

His eyes widen imperceptibly, but he doesn’t waste time, reaching towards his nightstand. 

Understanding his intention, Arya stops him.

“I’ve got an IUD, you clean?” 

Gendry blinks at her, as if his brain needs a second to catch up, and she has to smile at the semi-dopey expression on his face. 

It’s brief though and then his eyes grow dark again as he nods and settles back over her. 

This time, there’s no preamble, no sweet warning in the form of his fingers or his lips. It’s just him lining his cock against her slit and sliding home in one fell swoop. 

Her entire body freezes instantly, nerve endings already so primed that when he bottoms out inside her, it’s all Arya can do not to curl her legs around the back of his calves and buck wildly against him.

She buries her face into his neck instead, feeling the clench of his jaw as he exhales raggedly against her temple. 

For several drawn out moments, the only sounds in the room are their mingling breath and their hearts beating almost in tandem. She thinks hers might rip right through her chest, and she thinks she might not even miss it with how perfectly Gendry fills her, how perfectly he fits against her. 

She arches experimentally against him and his grip on her hips tightens almost to the point of bruising. 

“Arya, fuck.”

It slips out of his lips almost like a warning, because the next time she does it, Gendry pulls back out and slams into her. He does it again, and again, and then they’re moving together, trying to find that toe curling rhythm that’s going to leave them both shaking with release. 

It doesn’t take very long for Arya to feel the beginnings of an orgasm, but it’s too far away, a little too far out of reach. She feels like she’s floating, unable to grab onto any one sensation.

It feels like Gendry is everywhere, warm and solid on top of her, hard and thick inside her, soft where his lips move along her hairline. 

He changes the angle of his hips unexpectedly and she arches into him, nipples catching pleasantly on his chest hair and causing her cunt to flutter around him. 

She feels the tremor all the way down in her toes. 

“Arya, I can’t-…”

“Just come,” she cuts him off, because she’s so close too, and she just needs him to keep going, keep pushing, keep stretching her a little bit more. 

Her hand slips from where it’s digging into his shoulders to help herself along, but Gendry intercepts her. 

“Let me,” he whispers before brushing his lips over her cheek and sliding his fingers between them again. 

He strokes her firmly for a few minutes, sending little jolts of heat through her entire body. 

He feels like a furnace and she wants to soak it all up, crawl inside him until there’s not a semblance of space between them. The thought spurs her to rut hard against him, thrusting her hips upward to match his pace. That’s all it takes for Gendry’s movements to grow erratic again. 

She can tell he’s about to come; his whole body tightening as his fingers still against her clit. 

Her hands wander down his spine to his ass, squeezing him into her as she presses kisses to every inch of skin she can get access to, driven by a sudden need to see this beautiful man come undone on top of her.

But then he hits just the right spot inside her, and Arya arches against him, trapping his hand between them. She barely registers the soft smile that fall across his face as he starts to rub at her and then – 

“Gendry, Gods, I’m so-…”

“Me too.” He grunts just before slanting his lips over hers. 

It’s the last thing Arya can comprehend before her vision whites out completely and she unravels. 

Her only solace is that a few moments later, amidst the delirium of pleasure, she hears her name breathed out against her cheek as Gendry finally shudders atop her. 

And then she knows he’s falling too.

xxx


	10. in the arms of a stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I should go,” she says quietly but it sounds like it’s the last thing she wants to do. 
> 
> On impulse, Gendry reaches forward and runs his finger along her heated skin. 
> 
> “Or you could stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The happiest of holidays to all of you out there reading this story. I cannot thank you enough for sticking with it and hope you have a wonderful holiday regardless of what you're doing! 
> 
> Chapter title from Mike Posner's song of the same name. As always, the characters aren't mine. Enjoy <3

_He wakes up alone. From the sliver of light peeking in through the heavy curtains, Gendry can tell it’s still very early._

_The other side of the bed is empty where it hadn’t been last night. _

_He turns on his side, reaching out to trace the faint indentations on the pillow. A knot of dread forms in the pit of his stomach as he feels the cold surface. _

_Arya must’ve gotten up ages ago, and he hadn’t heard a thing. _

_Letting out a frustrated sigh, Gendry rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. Things have been strained between them ever since he’d gotten the terms of his inheritance from Robert’s lawyers. _

_Of course there were conditions that came with the money. _

_Surprisingly, Gendry didn’t mind any of them, except for one maybe. _

_Robert wanted Gendry to take on the family name. _

_For as long as Gendry could remember, he’d always been a Waters._

_In some twisted way, it had been liberating. Nobody thought a kid from Flea Bottom would amount to much of anything. _

_Baratheon, on the other hand, comes with a boatload of expectations, along with a ton of baggage, which Gendry isn’t sure he wants to be associated with. _

_Yet, that’s exactly what Robert has asked for from beyond the grave, along with the request that Gendry not abandon the Storm’s End estate. _

_It’s the last bit that’s driven a wedge between him and Arya. _

_Well that, and his stupid, impulsive mouth. _

_Gendry doesn’t regret asking her to move with him, but in retrospect, he could have approached it a little differently. _

_Maybe given both of them more time to process everything before proposing such a life changing move._

_Instead, he’d ridden the high of the last week that they’ve been officially together right into the ground._

_At least that’s what it felt like when at the very mention of moving, those expressive gray eyes of hers that he loves so much, had grown so wide, he’d reached for her simply to make sure she was alright. _

_The way Arya had flinched away from him brought Gendry right back down to reality. _

_It sparked his anger and then it was too late to dig himself out. _

_If only he hadn’t provoked her. If only he hadn’t called her out for being afraid. _

_She’d denied it but he kept pushing, kept shoving at her with his words because he couldn’t see past his frustration. _

_“I know you, Arya.” He’d said, as if he had some claim on her. _

_“You’re scared of anything that requires a modicum of responsibility.” _

_Her defiance suddenly morphed into hurt, confirming Gendry’s own theory about how much of a shitty boyfriend he was turning out to be._

_Arya hadn’t said anything, didn’t even tell him to go fuck himself. She simply walked out and Gendry had been so certain, so absolutely certain that he’d blown whatever chance he had with her._

_Then she’d slipped into his room the night before, slid into bed, and kissed him. Like a fool, Gendry went with it, thinking they had all the time to talk about it later. _

_Glancing at the now empty spot next to him, Gendry just feels uneasy. There’s a prickle of something in the air that he can’t ignore, and it prompts him to get up. _

_There’s no sense in waiting for a more respectable hour to find his girlfriend and apologize for being a rash son of a bitch. _

_To tell her that he’ll be happy to have her in any way she chooses. _

_But can he? _

_Now that he knows what it’s like to kiss her, to touch her, knows what it’s like to fall asleep holding her every night, can he really settle for a long-distance relationship? _

_And he knows he has to go. _

_Whether he likes it or not, he has to go to Storm’s End and save whatever is left of the Baratheon name. _

_Not for his father, but for himself, and for the other kids like him that Robert left behind. _

_He knows Arya knows that, but he can’t see her being happy there. He doesn’t know if she ever would be._

_He tries to evaluate both sides of the equation as he steps into the hallway, but the closer Gendry gets to Arya’s room, the further away he gets from believing that he can in fact stomach being so far away from her._

_Not when they’ve just gotten together. _

_After years of missing her when she was away in the Riverlands and then the time he’s spent pining after her in Winterfell, hearing Arya tell him that she’s in love with him had been everything. _

_He’s willing to fight for it. He refuses to let her go. _

_But it doesn’t seem like he has a say in the matter._

_Arya’s door is unlocked and when he pushes it open, the little knot of panic he felt earlier spreads to his entire body, making it difficult to breathe. _

_They’ve mostly been in his room, but there’s still something off about how neatly Arya’s bed is made. There’s also not a stitch of clothing anywhere, where there’d usually be piles strewn across the floor. _

_And somehow Gendry knows, he just knows that if he goes to her closet, there will be a chunk of stuff missing there too._

_She’d left her room in King’s Landing in a similar state when she’d run away after her father’s death. _

_There’s only one way to be completely certain of what he already feels in his bones though. _

_Just a few months ago for Arya’s 18th birthday, Bran gifted her a custom-made dagger. Gendry had secretly assisted with the design and even recommended the right person for the job, not being skilled enough yet to make it himself. _

_Arya absolutely loved the gift, keeping it in the top drawer of her nightstand. _

_If it’s not there, then he knows she left. _

_He’s about to open the drawer when the door creaks behind him. _

_He whips his head around to find Sansa standing in the doorway, and then Gendry doesn’t need further proof. _

_The look in her eye says it all. _

_Arya is gone, and he is one who drove her away._

xxx

Gendry wakes with a start, hand darting out and encountering nothing. 

A keen sense of dread washes over him instantly at the thought of history repeating itself. 

The very real possibility that Arya has once again left in the middle of the night with him none the wiser. 

As consciousness seeps in, however, Gendry starts to realize a few things. 

He’s facing away from the rest of the bed, and while there’s space between them, Arya is still very much next to him; swaddled in the covers like a burrito. 

Used to the cold my ass, he thinks, before rolling over to face her. She’s left him with barely enough to cover the bottom half of his body. 

At least some things haven’t changed in ten years. 

She was always a blanket hog. 

Judging by the goosebumps covering his chest and arms, that’s probably why he woke up. 

Or maybe it was the memory wrapped in a dream that roused him. 

The latter has left him unsettled, traces of anxiety settling into his very bones as he drops his gaze to the slumbering woman in front of him. 

Last night had been a surprise to him. A pleasant one, for sure; but a surprise, nonetheless.

He hadn’t actually thought they’d ever cross this boundary. 

He’d wanted to, _Gods_, did he want to. 

But Gendry learned a long time ago that wanting something didn’t equate to it being good for you, and he can’t help but wonder whether this thing with Arya falls in that category. 

He’s wary because he knows nothing about this was a casual fuck. How could it be with the amount of history between them? If anything, it’s all that familiarity that made it so hard for him to resist her. 

They’d spent most of the night wrapped up in each other’s’ arms, mouths too occupied to exchange any words of significance. 

While the haze of lust, and really the haze of being with _ Arya _ kept Gendry firmly anchored in the moment, now there’s really nothing left to keep him from wondering what’s next. 

As if testing him, Arya chooses that moment to turn over in her sleep and shove the duvet way down her body. 

His mouth falls slack as he sees her for the first time in the light of morning. 

Beautiful doesn’t do her justice. 

Breathtaking is a more apt description considering how his breath ceases as he takes her in. 

Her dark, tangled locks lay splayed across her face, partially obscuring the lucent skin of her cheeks. 

Her heart-shaped mouth is half-pressed into the pillow and curved up slightly, like she’s having a good dream. 

Gendry’s well aware that he’s so enamored with her likely due to the repeated release of endorphins he’s just experienced, but there’s also a grain of truth in it. 

Arya has always captivated him. Even when they were teenagers. 

She was bright and sharp and always kept him on his toes. She balanced out his moodiness, never letting him wallow or stew in his anger.

And yet there’s no denying that this Arya, the one sleeping soundly in his bed, feels more like him than ever. 

She too wears a layer of restraint like armor, but it doesn’t feel as right on her as it does on him. 

She’s not meant to wear a shield, she’s the one meant to wield a sword, and maybe that’s why Gendry feels so unnerved now. 

Last night had been the closest she’d been to the Arya he used to know. The fire in her eyes as she finally kissed him. The force of her grip on his hair as she unraveled beneath his tongue. 

All of it had been so, so good, but it doesn’t erase the barriers between them. 

Arya is still dealing with something big, something she’s unwilling to share and Gendry, well, he’s still not quite sure if he can trust her. 

His eyes sweep past the arms folded across her chest to settle on the intricate tattoo covering her stomach. It had been his second time kissing a path down her body when he finally noticed the aberrations on her skin. 

He hadn’t thought about them then, so singularly determined in his quest to make her shudder his name again, but now, seeing them makes Gendry a little ill. 

Even with the ink blotting them out, he knows those scars weren’t caused by surface level wounds. 

There is enough puckered flesh there that a particular thought roots in his brain. 

Arya had almost died and he didn’t even know. 

At some point in the not so distant past, she had been fighting for her life somewhere out there and he’d been doing what exactly?

Drinking at the pub with his friends?

Teaching one of his woodshop courses?

Spending time with Bella and boys? 

Or did it happen after he was already in Winterfell? 

And how did it happen?

Was it on the job?

Did someone attack her? 

Did it have anything to do with her partner’s death? 

Seems likely, but Gendry doesn’t know, and the not knowing makes him irrationally angry. 

There was a time in his life when he knew everything about the woman next to him: her deepest fears, her ambitions, what made her tick, what made her smile.

Her scars and the tattoo covering them are a physical reminder that he doesn’t know this Arya as well, if at all. 

No matter how good they made each other feel last night.

The thought pulls Gendry in opposite directions. 

He doesn’t know whether he needs distance or to get as close to Arya as possible. Just to make sure she’s here and safe, and very, very real in fact. 

The decision is made for him a few minutes later as she begins to wake up. 

She rolls on her back and stretches lazily, exposing the delicate roundness of her beasts. The contrast of her pale skin against the dark ink adorning her rib cage instantly awakens certain parts of his body; especially when he spots a faint hickey right below her left nipple. 

His mind takes him right back to the moment he’d given it to her, lips glued to her breasts as she held onto the headboard above his head and rode them both straight into oblivion. 

“How long have you been staring at me?” 

Her question pulls him out of the pleasant reverie, and he’s grateful for it, considering he’s ten seconds away from sporting a full blown erection.

But one look at her sleepy gaze, only slightly tinged with mirth and whatever little blood remained in his other organs rushes straight down to his cock. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He says this through nearly gritted teeth, which Arya apparently finds hilarious because the next second she’s laughing. 

The sound anchors Gendry in the moment, making space for his own chuckle as he observes how well-loved she looks, all while in _ his _ bed.

It’s the most relaxed he’s seen Arya since she’s been back, and the longer they lay staring at each other and saying nothing, the more opportunity his treacherous mind has for betraying him and taking him right back to the images from last night. 

Their first fuck had been frenzied and desperate, rough in a way he hadn’t expected it to be, but every subsequent time had been slower, tender somehow. She had been incredible, and as Arya turns to look at him, gaze half-hooded and lingering, he has to wonder if she knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

And maybe she’s thinking it too. 

“I should go,” she says quietly but it sounds like it’s the last thing she wants to do. 

On impulse, Gendry reaches forward and traces the hickey on her breast, before sliding his thumb up and lightly brushing her nipple. 

“Or you could stay.”

He knows it won’t fix anything, but he can’t help himself. Not with Arya looking at him _like that. _

She doesn’t say anything, but a moment later, she’s swinging her leg over his waist, and the distinct heat of her, the delicious press of her skin against his eclipses the need for words completely. 

His hand drops from her chest to the back of her thigh, holding her firmly in place as he rolls onto his back. 

He has only a moment to revel in the warmth of her on top of him before Arya braces herself with both hands on either side of his face and drops her lips down on his. 

He kisses her back for a few moments, angling his head to give her a better angle as her tongue slips into his mouth, but his hands refuse to stay put, looping around her thigh to reach the velvety softness of her cunt.

Arya inhales sharply, breaking their kiss. 

“Sore?” Gendry whispers with a twinge of male pride. Her eyes narrow at him.

“None of your business,” she barks back, but there’s no real bite to her words. If anything, she pushes back against his hand, silently asking for more, and who is he to deny her?

He runs his fingers along her slit a few times before unexpectedly sliding two inside of her. Arya instantly falters, breasts dropping just enough for her nipples to catch on his chest hair as she adjusts to the feeling. 

Gendry wants to kiss her again, wants to pull her down by the back of her head and plunder her mouth, but as Arya starts moving in time with his fingers, the sight is so mesmerizing all he can do is watch. 

Fuck, she really is beautiful. 

It’s at the tip of his tongue to tell her so, but he knows, just _ knows _ that it’ll spoil the moment. 

So he twists his fingers deeper instead, adding another while his free hand slides up her taut belly, seeking out her breasts again. 

It’s not the most comfortable position for either of them really, but Arya doesn’t seem to mind, greedily taking everything he gives her. 

She peers down at him and his cock instantly hardens at the leer she gives him, lips curving into a smirk as she hums in pleasure. Gendry pushes her further up his body so he can suck more love bites into her skin. 

The sigh of approval she lets out as he swipes his tongue across the hardened flesh paired with the way she bears down his fingers makes him yearn to feel her thighs clench around his head. 

“Sit on my face.” 

Arya’s eyes snap open at his breathless suggestion, but instead of sliding up, she shimmies down and purposefully rubs her ass right along his cock, making her intentions known.

“Maybe later.” 

As much as Gendry wants to lick into her until she can’t see straight, the promise of being sheathed deep inside her again is too tantalizing to pass up. 

He reluctantly pulls his fingers out of her and drags them up her body, leaving a wet trail as he goes. 

“As you wish, m’lady.” 

It slips out without thought and Gendry stills for a second, wondering if he’s accidentally crossed the line, blurring their past and their present. 

Arya doesn’t appear to care though, smiling almost lazily as she sinks down on top of him and pauses for a moment. 

Their eyes involuntarily lock. The smudge of eyeliner beneath her lids paired with the sinful way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth makes it nearly impossible to for Gendry to stay still.

Arya seems to feel the same way, because a second later, she starts to circle her hips and his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. 

She’s deceptively small but not frail; a trace of muscles lurking in her shoulders, in her thighs, in her abdomen. 

He yearns to trace them all, to feel the pulse of blood beneath her skin, but every turn of her hips sends a jolt of electricity straight through him, making it hard to concentrate on anything except the intensity brewing inside him. 

Searching for a distraction, Gendry buries his hand wrist deep in her hair and brings her mouth down on his. 

They kiss frantically, all lips, tongue and teeth as if this is the last time they’re going to do this, and when he eventually pulls back to catch his breath, it’s all he can do not thrust up at the sight of Arya riding him. 

She’s tilted over him in a way that works and every time she gets the right amount of friction on her clit, her cunt spasms around him. 

It starts to happen more frequently as she finds just perfect spot, the perfect angle that makes her breath come out in sharp bursts, his name mingled with a string of curses as she tries to find her release. 

Gendry is so distracted by it, so completely gone watching her chase that ephemeral peak, he doesn’t even realize he might unravel before her until he suddenly feels the familiar tightness in his balls. 

“Arya, I’m so fucking close.” He spits out through a clenched jaw, and the seductive glint in her eye as she looks down at him does nothing to stave off the pressure building low in his spine. 

She tilts her hips up, instead of grinding down like she has been, and lowers her mouth down to his ear. 

“What are you waiting for then?” 

Gendry’s brain short-circuits as he intuits what she’s inviting him to do, and he raises his knees up, using the space she created to drive into her from below. 

Arya lets out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whine, and it lights some unseen fire inside him. He tightens his hold on her hip and fists his other hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he can bite into her pulse point as he fucks her. 

Another moan, this time louder, more unrestrained and though her thighs grip almost painfully around his hips and her cunt clenches around him like a vice, she remains perfectly still, giving him complete control. 

It’s that awareness that seems to snap what little restraint Gendry still had. 

The level of trust Arya has placed in him from their very first kiss the night before all the way to now as she’s lets him have his fill – if that’s at all possible – pushes Gendry over the edge. 

He groans right into her throat as the first wave of his orgasm hits. 

It might be the feel of his mouth on her sweat soaked skin or the pulse of his cock or both but Arya stills for one glorious moment and then she’s trembling hard as she comes, moans half-muted by the pillow next to him. 

It somehow makes his own release last longer, and Gendry’s still feeling the aftershocks when she collapses on top of him. 

His fingers automatically twine in her hair as they lie in silence, trying to catch their breath, but even so, Gendry can feel the mood shift almost as quickly as the sweat cools on his body.

He doesn’t say anything, isn’t actually sure what to say. 

But a moment later, when Arya rolls off him and settles just far enough away that they aren’t touching anymore, Gendry is reminded that you can still feel a million miles away from someone even when they’re lying right next to you. 

xxx

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you?” he asks much later over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Nah, I already called a car,” Arya says without looking up from where she’s perched on the ground, lacing up her boots. 

Gendry continues to sip his coffee, leaning on the kitchen counter, and tries not to think about how sexy she looks in that dress. 

It hugs her in all the right places and the tights somehow elongate her legs, and he briefly wonders how it’s even physically possible for him to be getting hard again. 

His eyes travel up to Arya’s face as she stands and the intensity he sees there immediately shoves all indecent thoughts from his mind. 

She looks like she’s contemplating something really hard, and Gendry’s pretty sure he knows exactly what it is. 

And maybe he does it because he wants to make it easier on her, or maybe his pride won’t let her be the one who determines how this plays out, or maybe it’s the memory of that morning when he’d woken up to find her gone that still haunts him. 

But whatever the cause, Gendry finds himself speaking first.

“I had a really nice time.” 

“Me too.” 

Her instantaneous reply shouldn’t feel as good as it does, especially with what he’s about to say. 

“But it doesn’t have to change anything.” 

“It doesn’t?” 

He swears he sees disappointment flash across her face, but it’s brief and quickly replaced by something closer to relief. 

Gendry doesn’t stop to wonder whether he’s just seeing what he wants to see. Whether he’s been a liar all along and isn’t actually over anything that happened and is simply afraid that she’ll leave just like she did back then. 

All he thinks about is how he doesn’t want to be another thing in Arya’s life that brings her stress, that weighs her down. Not when there are scars on her body that he knows nothing about but that he’s certain are at least some of the cause for the sadness that seems to follow her everywhere she goes. 

No, if they’re going to do this, they have to do it right, and he’s willing to wait for it. 

Before last night, he hadn’t been certain there was something to wait for. 

Today, he does, and that makes it much easier to be patient. 

“We just started to hang out again. Let’s just see where that goes, yeah?” 

Arya stares at him for what seems like eternity, and for all that he thinks he knows her, Gendry really can’t tell what she’s thinking. 

Eventually, indecision fades away and she smiles at him. 

“I’d like that.” She says before glancing down at her boots and Gendry thinks that’s it. 

But then she’s suddenly in front of him and before he knows it, she’s leaning up and her lips brush against his cheek. 

It’s an incredibly chaste kiss compared to everything they’ve done, but his skin still burns from it and his hands still itch to reach up and pull her closer. 

From somewhere behind them, her cell goes off and Gendry’s actually grateful.

He has to let her go before he does or says something that contradicts him completely. 

“I think that’s my ride.” 

The shy smile crossing her features does nothing to quell his growing desire, and Gendry steps around her to go retrieve her coat from the rack by the door. 

He helps her into it, trying not to read too much into her actually letting him help her. 

She zips it up on her own and her eyes do a sweep of the room, probably to make sure she didn’t leave anything behind and it sparks a thought. 

“You never did get that tour.” 

He is wholly unprepared for the heated look Arya throws him as she puts her hand on the door handle.

“Next time,” she says over her shoulder, leaving him a little dumbfounded. 

Gendry smirks and leans against the open doorway, trying very hard not to feel a rush of pride as her eyes flicker to his arms as he crosses them over his chest. 

He watches as she gets into the green sedan waiting for her, and doesn’t move until the car is but a speck in the distance. 

Then he steps back inside his house and tries not to think about how empty it suddenly feels. 

xxx


	11. turn it up slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one thing she keeps coming back to is that Gendry hadn’t told her no. He hasn’t closed the door completely.
> 
> In fact, he left it just open enough for her to nudge her foot through.
> 
> And that’s exactly what she is going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'm allowed to wish all of you a happy new year in mid-Jan but I'm doing it anyway! Happy New Year, my dear readers <3 Hope 2020 is exponentially better on all fronts than 2019. In that spirit, I bring you a reprieve from all angst I served in the last update...lord knows we all need it :)
> 
> Chapter title from an OAR song of the same name and as always, I don't own any characters. Thank you for everyone who comments, kudos, or even simply reads this story. I hope you all enjoy!

As soon as Arya sinks into the soapy water, all the tension in her body starts to ebb away. 

The lavender scented bubble bath she stole from Sansa’s bathroom reminds her of the soaks she used to take after physically demanding assignments. Those baths had been different though. For one, she could take them in the complete silence of her apartment. 

In contrast, with more people in the house than ever, it’s hasn’t been quiet since before the holidays. Even now, Arya can hear the muffled conversation Sansa and Bran are having a couple doors down in her father’s study. 

She’d heard them on her way up, voices raised unusually high. Any other day, she would have barged in and demanded to know what they were fighting about, but today, she’s just too tired. 

In that respect, this really does remind her of her life in Braavos. 

Except the current ache in her muscles is not from chasing suspects down in 4-inch heels. She smiles fondly to herself, thinking about how she and Gendry spent the first few hours of the new year getting reacquainted with each other.

The tension between them had been simmering for so long, the first time she fell apart beneath his tongue had been almost physically relieving. 

She’d wanted it, she wanted _him._

Badly. 

After Gendry stopped second guessing himself, Arya had learned exactly how much he wanted her right back.

And, then, well, who could blame her not being able to resist him.

It has always been different with Gendry. Even back then, she’d asked him to be her first not because she was in love with him. 

No, that realization came much later. 

She’d asked him because she trusted him, even when he was barely an adult. 

Not much has changed since then. 

Except Gendry isn’t a boy anymore. His sharp edges have smoothed over and in their place stands a well-molded man, who seems so sure of what he wants and doesn’t play games.

And fuck, if that isn’t sexy as hell. 

Arya knows he’s been through his share of tough shit, it’s obvious in the way he carries himself. But he doesn’t let it get in the way of being open, being available to other people. 

She sees it in the little things he does every day. Like fixing the rusty break on Bran’s chair or taking Sansa’s car to get serviced so she has one less thing to worry about. 

And she saw it this morning when she’d woken up and found his crystal blue eyes looking more troubled than ever.

They’d gotten carried away rather quickly after that but she’d already caught a glimpse of his worry. It left her feeling unsettled once the haze of lust dissipated. 

In revealing her scars to him, she’d exposed a part of herself nobody has seen yet, not even Sansa. Though she’s not concerned with Gendry telling anyone, Arya knows it’s only a matter of time before he asks her about them. 

And while the idea of confiding in someone who isn’t paid to listen to her is extremely tempting, is it fair of her to do that? 

It’s one thing to fuck for old time’s sake, but to push her emotional baggage on him like that after ten years of silence? It’s not right.

Her stomach drops uncomfortably as she thinks about how desperately Gendry had touched her when they’d first gotten to his house, clearly expecting her to leave as soon as she got what she came for. 

Initially, it had made her ache for him all that much more, but now it just makes her frustrated with herself. 

What reason has she given him to think otherwise? 

Other than telling Gendry she has no plans to leave Winterfell, she hasn’t done much to show him that she does want him in her life.

But she does, in whatever capacity he’s willing to be. 

Arya’s not sure when it happened, but it’s been the most startling revelation. Ever since they cleared the air, she’s started to look forward to seeing him more, talking to him, spending time with him. 

The growing attraction between them has been a pleasant side effect of it all, but she has to ask herself if that’s all she wants from him. 

Unconsciously, her fingers dip beneath the water, tracing over the faint bruises she’d noticed when she’d undressed earlier.

Gendry would probably be horrified to discover the imprints of his thumbs on her hip bones, but the revelation only turns Arya on. 

Her skin starts to tingle as she grazes her inner thigh, feeling the phantom scrape of his beard, and remembering how his eyes practically sparkled before he put his mouth on her. 

Before her hands can wander further, the image of Gendry’s tentative expression from just this morning in his kitchen pops into her head. 

She’d been working up the courage to ask him to hang out, not willing to leave his place without reassurance that she’d see him again, but he spoke first, derailing her entire plan. 

It made her question whether she even had the right to ask more of him. He might have told her he was over her leaving all those years ago, but his actions spoke otherwise.

Maybe in telling her that nothing had to change, he’d intended to preempt whatever rejection he thought he was going to get from her. Or maybe he really didn’t trust her yet – and Arya couldn’t blame him. 

Whatever it was though, it doesn’t really matter, because she’s made up her mind. 

She’s had time to mull his words over, and the one thing she keeps coming back to is that Gendry hadn’t told her no. 

He hasn’t closed the door completely. 

In fact, he left it just open enough for her to nudge her foot through.

And that’s exactly what she is going to do. 

xxx 

Sansa is sitting at the breakfast nook with a bunch of papers spread out in front of her when Arya walks into the kitchen a few nights later, intent on putting something in her stomach before leaving the house. 

Since Bran, Pod, and Brienne left, Sansa has been spending more time at the office than ever, leaving before Arya is awake, and retiring very early. 

She claims it’s to buffer her maternity leave, but Arya’s not so sure. Her gut tells her that whether unconsciously or not, her sister is either avoiding her, the house, or both.

Arya can’t blame her. 

Gendry’s crew is still on vacation too, so the house has been especially quiet this week. While that might work for her, Sansa has always thrived on having people around. The thought only amplifies the guilt Arya feels at the sight of furrowed brows and tense shoulders. 

She needs to do a better job of checking in on her very pregnant sister. 

“Hey, whatcha doing?” 

Sansa looks up so suddenly Arya wonders if she even heard her come in at all. 

“Oh nothing, just some contracts I need to proofread for work.”

The way she quickly gathers the triplicate forms and hurriedly stuffs them into a folder belies her words. 

Arya’s about to probe her further but her sister expertly changes the subject. 

“I thought you were out already.” 

Arya shakes her head, giving Sansa one more cursory onceover before rounding the counter to the refrigerator. 

“Nope, need some food in me before I head out.” 

“Oh you and Gendry aren’t getting food wherever you’re going?” 

Arya freezes with her head half-way inside the icebox, hoping her voice doesn’t waver too much. 

“No idea, so better be safe than sorry.”

She says nothing else as she pulls out a couple containers of leftovers from the top shelf and starts to make herself a plate. 

All the while, she can feel Sansa’s eyes on her. Eventually curiosity gets the best of her, and as she pops the food into the microwave, Arya can’t help but ask.

“He told you we were hanging out tonight?” 

Sansa’s lips pull up into a smirk. 

“He told me he had plans tonight, and you’d mentioned yesterday that you had somewhere to be. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots.” 

“Oh.” 

She must look like a fish out of water, with the way Sansa’s expression dissolves into amusement, but she can’t erase the surprise from her face. 

She’d been careful not to mention anything to Sansa yet. Her sister’s implication that she might ruin things with Gendry again still lingers on the periphery of her mind months later. But she hadn’t even considered that Gendry might be confiding in Sansa, which is pretty stupid on her part, considering how close they are. 

Arya suddenly feels more exposed than she has in a while and is grateful for the interruption when the microwave beeps. 

She turns to get her plate when Sansa speaks again.

“For what it’s worth, Arya, I don’t think it’s a bad thing that you guys are spending time together.” 

Having gone so long without any family around, it’s an adjustment for Arya to be around people who know her as well as Sansa does, but it helps let her guard down on occasion. Like right now. 

“You don’t?” 

“Yes,” Sansa replies without hesitation, and Arya smiles to herself as she removes the hot plate from the microwave.

“And don’t tell Gendry this, but he definitely needed to get laid.”

Arya nearly drops the plate, unable to stop the flush from creeping up her neck at her sister’s words. 

Sansa looks on amusedly as Arya tries to figure out how to react. 

“How’d you know?” 

“Oh please,” Sansa rolls her eyes, “did you think you were being subtle when you practically shoved him out of the room as soon as the ball dropped?” 

Arya knows she should be more embarrassed, but it’s a lot easier to mask whatever discomfort she feels with her typical aloofness. 

“Wasn’t thinking about that, if you know what I mean.” 

“Ew.” Sansa’s expression shifts into mock disgust, and Arya can’t help but laugh.

“You’re one who went there.”

“True,” Sansa shrugs good-naturedly and the atmosphere instantly shifts into something lighter. 

Even so, Arya feels the sudden need to explain herself. 

“It was a one-time thing. We’re just friends and agreed not to make a big deal of it.” 

“That’s mature of you.” 

Sansa looks like she wants to say something else, but abstains, and Arya’s grateful. 

Amidst all the uncertainty she’s felt lately, she’s not sure she has any more answers to give on the topic. 

They lapse into a companionable silence, that’s interrupted occasionally by the scrape of a fork or the scribble of pen against paper. 

It’s only when Arya’s done and gets up to clear her dish that Sansa stops writing and looks up at her.

“Can I just say one thing?” 

“Sure,” Arya replies way too quickly, her stomach dropping at the seriousness in Sansa’s tone. 

“If it does ever become a big deal for you, don’t wait to tell him, okay?” 

It feels like her sister is speaking from experience. It would be the perfect time to ask her about it, to call her out on her hypocritical advice about being honest when she herself hasn’t been.

But Arya mentally repeats the same thing she’s been telling herself about Sansa since she returned home.

Her sister will talk to her when she’s ready. 

So, Arya finds herself nodding instead. 

“I will.” 

And the words sound like a lie to her, because some part of her already knows that she’s way past that point. 

xxx 

That thought stays with her the entire way to the local bar where she and Gendry agreed to meet tonight. 

As soon as she walks in and spots his hulking frame hunched over a mostly full pint, whatever uncertainty she feels melts away. 

He turns in her direction, and the way his face instantly splits into a smile has Arya quickly making her way over and sliding into the stool besides him.

“Sorry I’m late.” She unwinds the heavy scarf from around her neck and doesn’t miss the fleeting glance of appreciation Gendry gives her.

“it’s alright, you’ve never been the most punctual.” 

“Rude.” 

She scowls at his jab, but the mirth on his face is contagious and Arya finds herself smiling a minute later. Especially because Gendry’s right. 

She’s not very disciplined in this regard. Not like Sansa is. 

Thinking of her sister reminds Arya of their conversation, but she forces herself to be present, which isn’t very hard to do with Gendry looking the way he does. 

He clearly hasn’t shaved since she saw him last, and his beard is a little thicker. His hair is disheveled from the beanie that’s sticking out of his back pocket, and he’s wearing a blue flannel shirt that only emphasizes the alluring shade of his eyes. 

All of it, together, takes Arya back to the moment when he’d shyly wished her happy new year and kissed the corner of her mouth, snapping her resolve completely. 

Her eyes automatically drop to his lips, remembering instantly just how _good_ they felt against hers. 

The thought is so consuming, she doesn’t even realize he’s pushed a drink in her direction until Gendry speaks. 

“Got you a G&T, hope that’s okay.” 

Arya blinks the memory away and picks up the glass.

“It’s perfect.” 

She takes a healthy swallow and tries not to think about how she would easily describe Gendry the same way. 

xxx 

The thing about her and Gendry is that before anything romantic ever happened between them, they were friends. 

And they used to have a shit ton of fun together.

It’s not like Arya forgot about it, but more like it hits her square in the face when she takes her phone out for the first time during their fourth game of pool and realizes that three and a half hours have gone by.

Granted, it might also be the four drinks she’s consumed that are messing with her sense of time, but while alcohol might have reduced her inhibitions somewhat, it’s definitely not the cause for her lifted mood.

Gendry pockets two more balls and snaps her out of her thoughts with a cocky grin on his face. 

“You’re losing, Stark.” He warns her playfully, and she narrows her eyes at him instantly. 

“Watch it, Waters.” 

The quick flash of surprise on Gendry’s face clues Arya into her mistake but she doesn’t correct herself, especially when she spots the subtle smile that pulls at his lips a second later. 

The idea that Gendry might like that she doesn’t call him a Baratheon fills her with a certain warmth. He’ll always be a Waters to her, no matter what. It does spark a thought though.

“So, you ended up taking the Baratheon name huh?” 

Gendry pauses in the middle of lining up his next shot to look up at her. 

For a second, Arya wonders if she’s overstepped, if maybe she shouldn’t be asking him this question. But there’s no anger or annoyance on his face as he nods. 

“Yup.” 

He doesn’t elaborate further, choosing to concentrate on the game instead.

Arya should really leave it at that, but she’s never been good at controlling her urges, especially when it comes to Gendry. 

“What’d you end up doing with the money?” 

His grip on the cue noticeably loosens at her question, and he gives up on the game entirely, casting a pensive look at her before his lips part open. 

Before he can say anything though, his hand goes to his back pocket and he pulls his phone out. 

From where Arya is standing, she can see the screen lit up with several notifications. 

At first she thinks it’s an emergency, but when the line between Gendry’s brows softens, Arya feels an unexpected spark of jealousy.

Who could be texting him so late at night that makes him smile like that? 

As if sensing her thoughts, Gendry rounds the pool table to stand next to her. 

“Sorry, it’s my sister, Bella. When we spoke on Christmas, I asked for pictures of the kids with their presents and she finally got around to sending them. She’s a single mom to three boys so this is probably the first free moment she’s had.” 

“Oh wow,” 

Arya’s reaction is immediate, both for how impressive this woman is, and for how much Gendry obviously cares about her. 

“Want to see the munchkins?” 

“Try and stop me,” she says playfully, pulling the phone closer to her so she can see the photos. 

As Gendry flips through each one, Arya can’t help but spy the adoration on his face. 

“Ambrose is the oldest and definitely the athlete of the family. Got him this super rare football jersey I’ve been hunting for, for months. Myles is probably the most precocious 7 year old I’ve ever met but Bella mentioned he’s had trouble concentrating lately so I got him this construction set that’s supposed to help with that. And then we have baby Olly, who might just be the cutest toddler I’ve seen, but I’m biased obviously.” 

The pride with which he describes each one of his nephews and what he’d chosen as a gift for each boy based on his interest fills her with relief, which expands into something else entirely when he mentions that the only reason he even met Bella and his other half-siblings was through Robert’s lawyers. 

Arya always had mixed feelings about the conditions Robert placed on Gendry’s inheritance. Whatever her parents were, they both loved her unconditionally, and she had spent a long time being angry at Robert for the inability to give Gendry that.

But it seems like Gendry found it in another place altogether, and Arya suddenly feels an odd sense of gratitude for her father’s best friend. 

Whatever is on her face makes Gendry pause scrolling through pictures. 

“You alright?” 

Arya blinks for a second, the haze of alcohol making her just a little bit slower on the uptake. 

She doesn’t even realize she’s latched onto his arm, until he glances down at her hand. He doesn’t shrug it off though, and it gives her the encouragement she needs.

“Yeah, I’m just happy for you.”

“For what?”

“You have a family. Finally.” 

Something indecipherable passes across Gendry’s face, and he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I guess, I do.” 

He smiles almost shyly at her then, and Arya realizes in a flash that this is probably not what he had in mind when he suggested things didn’t have to change, so she decides to spare him. 

“Alright, your nephews are cute and all, but I thought we were in the middle of a high stakes game of pool?” 

Gendry’s entire demeanor changes as he shoves his phone in his back pocket and picks up his cue again. 

“Get ready to lose, Stark.” He warns spiritedly as he returns to his previous position behind the pool table. 

“You wish, Waters.” 

Arya quips back and tries not to get distracted by the warmth she feels from the massive grin Gendry flashes her as he pockets another ball. 

xxx

It’s way past last call when the bartender finally kicks them out.

They’re the last people in the establishment, save for a guy slumped over the bar still waiting for his ride.

Gendry stumbles slightly while trying to maneuver himself into his coat and Arya stifles a giggle, reaching forward and helping him out. 

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly, eyes shining with a buzz, and she really wishes he wasn’t so adorable when he is a little tipsy. 

“Let’s go, you big oaf.” She teases as they make their way out of the bar. 

They step out onto the deserted street and the chilled air clears her mind just a bit. 

Gendry’s keys jingle as he pulls them out of his pocket, and she immediately halts him with a hand on his forearm. 

“You can’t drive.”

“I know,” he says, cheeks ruddy and breath coming out in large spurts, “but an uber will take forever so we might as well wait in my truck.” 

Gendry doesn’t wait for her to agree, walking ahead of her to the dimly lit parking lot, clearly eager to escape the cold. This time, Arya doesn’t control her laughter as she watches him stumble awkwardly to the truck, trying to avoid patches of ice. 

She’s still laughing when they climb in and Gendry cranks up the engine to run the heat. 

“What? The ice is not my friend,” he defends himself amidst her chuckles, “I thought I’ve proven that.” 

Arya gets comfortable, shrugging off her coat and throwing her scarf, which she didn’t bother putting on again, to the backseat. 

“Oh no, I’m glad you were careful,” she turns to him as she continues to tease, “wouldn’t want anything to happen to that handsome face of yours.” 

The air immediately changes between them. 

Gendry’s lopsided grin fades as they continue to look at each other, neither making a move to get their phone out and call a car. 

“Sansa knows I spent the night with you.” 

Arya’s not sure why she chooses that exact moment to tell him, but the way Gendry’s eyes widen, as if he’s just remembered exactly what they’d done the last time they saw each other, makes it very hard to regret her words.

“Yeah?” 

“Apparently, we didn’t make the most subtle getaway.” 

She can’t help the smirk that tugs at her lips when she spots the faintest blush on Gendry’s cheeks. 

He glances out the window for a moment, but then he turns back to her, and she feels nearly winded from the intensity of his stare. 

“And what do you think about that?”

Arya knows exactly what he’s asking her, but she isn’t sure she can answer truthfully without making everything all the more complicated. 

At least, that’s the only explanation she has for why her mind pivots into an entirely different direction as she pivots towards him. 

“I think that Jon was right and your truck is huge.” 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” 

“Means we can probably fuck in the front seat without it totally destroying my knees.” 

Even in the dim lighting, Arya can see how Gendry’s eyes turn a dark cobalt shade, setting something inside her aflame. 

There’s a beat of silence while he looks like he’s contemplating something and then…

“We should find out for sure.” 

it’s all the invitation Arya needs to throw her leg over the gear shift and crawl into his lap. 

The moment she settles against him, Gendry’s hands instinctively drop to her hips, pressing into the same place he’d marked her before and making her shiver. 

She leans down and pulls his bottom lip between her teeth.

He groans right into her mouth, and as she presses herself more firmly into his lap, feeling him already half-hard beneath her, Arya can’t help but think that they’re both idiots if they thought this would be a one-time thing.


	12. broken open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not going to pretend like spending time with Arya doesn’t make me feel good, because it does. It makes me feel shit I haven’t in years –“
> 
> _Or with any other woman_ goes unsaid, because try as he might, Gendry's not there yet.
> 
> He’s not ready to admit that he might be slowly approaching the point of no return; if he hasn’t crossed it already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter had another title, it would be "conversations and almost revelations." But since I've committed to titling each chapter after a song that matches the vibe, I encourage ya'll to listen to "Broken Open" by Cold War Kids. 
> 
> Also, I can't stress enough how appreciative I am of each comment, kudo, tumblr reblog, ect that I get on this story. It's taken over my life in an incredible way and the feedback has been such a joyous part of writing this, so thank you!! And I hope you enjoy this part :)
> 
> As always, I don't own anything, except my muse, who is a fickle betch during the best days.

_“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Gendry asks as they stumble into his bedroom._

_Arya pulls back from where she is sucking a hickey into his neck to fix him with an exasperated look. As if she expected this._

_“It’s not like I haven’t touched a man before.” _

_To prove her point, she runs one hand down his front and palms him through his jeans. _

_Gendry sucks air through his teeth, trying to clear his head. _

_The thought of Arya touching other men and being touched by them should give him pause, but he’s always been a pretty in the moment sort of guy. His main priority now is to quell the rush of blood to his cock as Arya continues to stroke him. _

_To maybe last long enough to make it good for her._

_“But you’ve never had one inside of you.”_

_Arya stills briefly, dark gray eyes giving him a sweep that sends a tremor through his entire body. His fingers dig into her hips just a little bit, betraying how he feels by the prospect of being her first._

_He is teetering on the brink of indecision. When she’d cornered him in the living room earlier and told him she had a proposition for him, this is the last thing he thought it would be. Now, it’s all he can think about and yet a part of him wishes she would push him away. Make the wise choice not to pursue this. _

_Gods know he’s in no position to do so. _

_He knows she deserves better than him. She deserves someone who isn’t as jaded by life, who isn’t a reminder of all the loss she’s suffered._

_But he’s already half in love with her if he’s honest with himself, and even if he wasn’t, what Arya says next erases any and all doubts swirling in his head. _

_Making his next move inevitable. _

_“Never trusted any of ‘em enough to let them.”_

_Gendry isn’t sure she understands the impact of her words, but he’s sure of the little moan she makes when he kisses her with an intention that’s difficult to misconstrue. _

_He’s sure of the way she arches into him and asks silently for more. _

_He’s sure of the way her eyes drop to half-mast and her cheeks flush with arousal as his hands skim the sides of her breasts. _

_And he’s sure that he’ll give her everything she wants if she just keeps smiling at him the way she is right now._

xxx 

Gendry’s not sure why this specific memory pops into his head, other than the fact that he’s in his old bedroom in the Stark Manor for the first time in months.

It leaves him just disoriented enough that it takes him a moment to realize that his phone is vibrating. 

He fishes it out of his pocket to see a text notification.

**Sansa:** are you in the house somewhere? Need help with paint samples.

It’s a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, but predictably, Sansa is already up and presumably working. 

He’s noticed that she hasn’t gone out much lately. It might be the pregnancy, but he’s pretty sure it’s everything else too. Maybe when he’s done here, he can convince her to take a walk. 

** Gendry:** yeah in my old room, working on that creaky door hinge. where are you? 

** Sansa: ** kitchen, come find me when you’re done? 

He types out a quick reply, agreeing to meet her. Then he shoves his phone back in his pocket, determined to fix up the door as quickly as possible in case his mind pushes him down memory lane again. 

He hasn’t thought about the first time he and Arya had slept together in years, but given the recent developments in their relationship, Gendry supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised that he’s spending so much time reflecting on their past. 

Ever since New Year’s Eve, his thoughts have been straying to her more and more. It probably doesn’t help that against his better judgment, he’s not only taken every opportunity to spend time with her but also let her into his bed. 

Heat creeps up his neck as he thinks about how he can no longer drive his truck without picturing Arya’s face contorted in pleasure as she rode him hard and fast, fogging up both the windows and his mind with her breathy sighs. 

Every time he gets home, his eyes inevitably flicker to the kitchen counter, where he’d found her sitting one night the week prior, wearing just a flimsy pair of panties that didn’t stay on for too long.

He’d been so overcome by the sight of smooth, pale skin and that perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in challenge, he’d ignored her jab about how easy it was to break into his house. 

Instead he bent her over the counter and pushed into her until she could no longer string together coherent sentences, let alone make fun of him.

He’s not an idiot. 

He knows this isn’t the healthiest approach to rekindling whatever friendship they’d had in the past. 

But if Gendry is honest with himself, well and truly honest like he’s promised himself he’d always be, then he has to admit that he and Arya haven’t been _just_ friends in a very long time. 

Although that shouldn’t give him comfort, somehow it does. 

Maybe it’s the inevitability of it all, surrendering to the fact that Arya Stark is and always will be his weak spot. 

Maybe it’s just the simple awareness that she’s been more like herself lately and a small part of him thinks he has something to do with it. 

Whatever it is, it’s clear that Arya Stark has infiltrated his life again and Gendry doesn’t actually mind it one bit. 

xxx

The smell of something utterly delicious hits him immediately upon entering the kitchen. 

Sansa is standing with her back to him by the stove, ladling what looks to be soup from a large pot into a bowl.

“Want some?” 

She offers with a smile over her shoulder. As if on cue, Gendry’s stomach growls, reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since leaving his house this morning. 

“Yeah.” 

He makes his way over to the cupboard, taking out a bowl and stepping into the space vacated by the redhead, who has now migrated to the kitchen table. 

It’s only when he’s made his way over to sit across from her, the steam from the bowl rising to warm his face, that Gendry notices the slightly unusual pallor to Sansa’s skin and the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hey, you doing alright?”

He abandons his hunger pains in favor of catching her attention with a tentative hand on her arm. 

“I’m fine, just having a little trouble sleeping, which is to be expected when entering the third trimester.” 

Although Gendry knows from his own sister’s pregnancies that insomnia does tend to kick in at the sixth-month mark, the way Sansa won’t meet his gaze suggests that she may not be telling the whole truth. 

“Ah, well Bella used this pregnancy pillow that she swears by. I’ll text you a link if you want.” 

“Oh thank you. I’ll definitely check it out.” 

There’s a twinge of surprise in her voice. Gendry wonders if it’s because he’s mentioned his sister for the first time in forever, or if it’s because she’s genuinely taken aback by his suggestion. 

He doesn’t bother clarifying, more concerned with the fact that his best friend is clearly in a funk. 

“You sure there’s nothing else going on?” He asks gently, casually, while spooning some soup into his mouth.

“Nothing a bowl of my mom’s chicken noodle soup can’t fix.” 

Though the enthusiasm in her voice doesn’t quite match the distant expression on her face, Gendry can’t help but nod, inhaling the rich aroma and deciding to leave it alone for now. 

“Can’t argue with that.”

Perhaps, it’s foolish of him not to push more, but he wants to believe that Sansa would talk to him if she needed to. This open channel of communication has been a core tenet of their friendship for years, and he chooses to lean into it, even if only just this once. 

He glances at the table then, and seeing it covered in various fabrics and color palettes reminds him why Sansa had summoned him here in the first place. 

“So, the paint swatches then?” 

“Oh right!” 

Sansa quickly moves her mostly full bowl of soup aside and pushes four different paint samples in Gendry’s direction. 

“It’s for the den. I was thinking something more neutral toned like this beige, to match the furniture, but Arya thinks we should make it more vibrant.”

She holds up a bright blue swatch and Gendry smirks to himself. 

“Of course, she does.” 

And when he looks up to meet Sansa’s gaze, there’s no way for him to get around the twinkle in her eye. He has little delusion that it’s at his expense. 

“Did I just catch a smile on your face?”

“Yeah, maybe. What of it?” 

“Nothing.” Sansa feigns innocence, but Gendry isn’t fooled, “no need to get defensive on me, Gen.”

“I’m not,” he counters, and he really should leave it at that, but be it the fact that he hasn’t spoken to anyone about Arya at all, or maybe it’s simply that he misses shooting the shit with one of his oldest friends, but he can’t help himself. 

“If this is your way of asking if things are good between me and Arya, they are.” 

“They better be. With the way she’s been walking around with a smile plastered on her face, let’s just say whatever you’re doing is working.” 

Gendry feels the heat rush up his cheeks, all manner of inappropriate images flashing through his mind’s eye, as Sansa looks on amusedly. 

It’s almost inevitable at this point, the effect Arya has on him, but there’s also a twinge of male pride somewhere in there. If anyone in this world has a lens into the grey-eyed woman who has infiltrated his thoughts so much it’s her sister, and it feels like a missed opportunity not to keep pushing. 

“She does seem better, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes, she does.” Sansa nods without any hesitation, “it’s nice. I feel like she’s present for the first time since she’s been back. She even offered to run an errand for me this morning.”

Relief settles over him, eclipsing any other thoughts as he resumes eating. 

“And you?”

Sansa’s gentle inquiry, much more subdued than before, forces him to pause and look up at her. 

“What about me?” 

“C’mon, don’t avoid it. You’re good with everything, right?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” 

Sansa fixes him with a disbelieving look, and that quick tempered part of him suddenly flairs up, wanting to call her out for trying to pull answers out of him while keeping own feelings close to the vest. 

He reigns it in almost on auto-pilot, refusing to turn this around on her just to avoid the question. 

His friend clearly has no qualms about probing him more. 

“I don’t know, Gen, maybe because in the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve never once done casual with anyone, especially not Arya.” 

And she has a point, she really does, but there are also things she doesn’t know. At least things that Gendry thinks she doesn’t know. 

Like the scars on Arya’s body and the fact that he was the one who suggested that nothing had to change. The latter, at least, is something he doesn’t have to hide from her. 

“I know that, but I think casual might be for the best right now.” 

It’s remarkable how much Sansa can communicate with just a look and he knows this one well. 

She clearly thinks he’s fooling himself. 

“And Arya agrees with you?” 

“Arya is-…”

But he won’t say it. He won’t admit that he hasn’t actually discussed this with the woman in question. That instead, they’ve fallen into some odd, unspoken routine that for the past few weeks has been one of the brightest spots during his time in the North.

“I get what you’re saying,” Gendry says instead, “but I promise, I’m fine. It might actually be healthy for me to put some boundaries up for once.” 

“Boundaries?” Sansa smirks, “really?”

And it does sound ridiculous when he says it, because what sorts of boundaries involve impromptu fucking visits followed by hours of conversation? 

The only real boundary they’ve created is not spending the night together, and even that seems paper thin to Gendry as a defense. 

He sighs and shoves his bowl of soup aside. 

“Look, I’m not going to pretend like spending time with Arya, being around her, doesn’t make me feel good, because it does. It makes me feel shit I haven’t in years –“ 

_Or with any other woman_ goes unsaid, because try as he might, he’s not there yet. 

He’s not ready to admit that he might be slowly approaching the point of no return, if he hasn’t crossed it already.

“But you’re going to have to trust me that I know what I’m doing. I’m okay with how things are. At least I have to be for now.”

Sansa looks like she wants to push but whatever expression lurks on his face makes her reconsider. She reaches over and gives his arm a gentle, almost pacifying squeeze. 

“I do trust you, I just want you to be happy. Both of you. And I did mean what I said earlier. Arya is different somehow. Ever since the holidays, she has been, and if that’s a result of you spending time together, then I’m glad. I just worry, that’s all.” 

And Gendry can’t help but wonder if she’s allotting mental space to him and Arya to avoid her own issues. 

Despite the way her light blue eyes fill with affection, it’s tough to ignore the genuine fatigue on Sansa’s face, and Gendry knows it’s not all pregnancy related. 

“I know you do, and I appreciate it, but I’m good, really.”

He gives her his most reassuring smile and it seems to finally appease her. 

“Alright then, I’ll stop meddling.” 

Sansa holds her hands up in mock surrender and Gendry chuckles, almost ready to teasingly remind her that she might be physically incapable of not meddling. But something else takes precedent. 

“You know I’m here right?” He searches out her eyes again, just to bring the point across. 

“If you ever need to talk or just get out of the house, I’m here. I know between the reno and other things, it might feel like I’m MIA, but I’m not. I’m around for anything you need.” 

“I know. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. That’s what friends are for, right?” 

“Yeah that and breaking the tie on paint colors.” 

Sansa expertly changes the subject, motioning to the samples strewn across the tabletop between them, and Gendry lets her.

“Don’t hate me, but I agree with Arya. A pop of color in the den wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

He braces himself for a pushback but Sansa just sighs and drops the beige swatch back into the pile. 

“Ugh, I am outnumbered. Fine. Light blue it is, then.” 

Despite her words, she doesn’t seem to be bothered by it whatsoever. In fact, she’s smiling genuinely for the first time throughout their exchange, and Gendry silently vows that he’ll do whatever he can to continue lifting up her spirits. 

Because that’s also what friends are for. 

xxx

“Why did I agree to this again?” He asks while throwing a handful of noodles into a pot of boiling water. 

“Because your pregnant best friend has been in a funk for weeks and what better way to cheer her up than a kick ass baby shower?” 

Arya says it so matter-of-factly, Gendry finds he can’t really argue with it. Especially since he’s the one who messaged her about it after his impromptu lunch with Sansa. 

Instead, he sets a timer for the pasta and turns away from the stove to face her. 

She’s seated at the kitchen counter with his laptop in front of her and an untouched glass of wine to her right. She smiles at him so easily when their eyes lock, that Gendry can’t help but return it, trying and failing not to let the soft curve of her pale pink lips distract him. 

“Have you tried talking to her?” 

He knows he’s infringing on dangerous territory, especially knowing why Sansa may not want to open up to her sister. Yet, there’s a part of him that’s curious to get Arya’s perspective on it, beyond just an agreement that something is off. 

Arya’s face immediately pinches into a frown and she looks away, finally reaching for the wine glass and taking a much overdue sip. 

“Not really.” 

Her reply is but a mumble under her breath but Gendry hears her discomfort loud and clear, and although he knows he shouldn’t pry, he simply can’t help it. 

“I’m sure she would appreciate it.” 

Arya’s expression instantly switches from uncertainty to suspicion. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow quirks slightly, momentarily distracting Gendry from her intrusive stare. 

“Why? You know something?” 

He could tell her. He really could, but even as he entertains the possibility, Gendry knows it’s not on the table. 

It’s not his story to tell and if Sansa’s not talking about it, then he has to respect it; despite the pit of guilt currently growing inside him. 

He’s never been a fan of secrets. Has seen time and again how lives get destroyed when people keep things from each other. 

One look at Arya though, and he’s swiftly reminded that Sansa’s not the only one keeping secrets. A part of him wonders if maybe Arya is so reticent to talk to her sister because she isn’t ready to share her secrets either.

It would make sense. 

Luckily for him, the timer beeps, saving him from having to answer Arya’s question with anything more than a shrug. He turns away from her wary gaze to finish making their dinner. 

By the time he’s set two steaming bowls of pasta between them and poured himself a glass of water, Arya has already moved on, launching into a spirited recital of all the things they need to do to pull off the epic shower she has in mind.

And while Gendry is relieved, he can’t help but shake the feeling that if the two sisters don’t talk soon, it won’t end well for anyone. 

xxx 

Gendry has never really believed that everything happens for a reason. His own experiences have taught him that sometimes life dealt you a shitty hand, and sometimes you got lucky. 

When Arya picks her phone off the coffee table and excitedly announces that Jon is trying to FaceTime her, Gendry can’t help but feel a weird sense of foreboding. 

For one thing, he isn’t sure how much Arya has told Jon about them. While Gendry really shouldn’t care, given that they’re two consenting adults and can do as they please, there’s still a residual feeling that Jon’s approval somehow matters.

Especially because Gendry knows that of all the people closest to her, Arya would confide in Jon about what happened to make her come home, and a small part of Gendry can’t help but worry that the older man will think that Gendry is taking advantage of her.

If anyone could ever take advantage of Arya Stark, that is. 

Thankfully, his uncertainty falls by the wayside as Jon’s face comes into view and Arya’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. 

It’s easy for him to shelve all his worries aside when her eyes nearly sparkle and her face splits into a wide grin as she greets her brother. 

Gendry only has a moment to wipe off whatever dumbstruck expression he might be sporting before Arya’s turning the screen in his direction and he waves an awkward hello to his old friend. 

Jon looks exactly the same, except perhaps with more hair, which he seems to have pulled back at the moment. His friendly dark eyes, though, betray his surprise. 

“Gendry, good to see you, mate. How’ve you been?” 

Before Gendry can reply, Arya turns the screen back to herself, positively giddy as she answers for him. 

“He’s good, he’s good.” She says with so much enthusiasm Gendry has a hard time getting annoyed with her for interrupting. 

Jon seems to be equally amused if the staticky chuckle is anything to go by.

“What’s more important is how you are. I texted you about Sansa’s baby shower this morning. You didn’t respond.”

The ensuing silence on the other end makes Gendry’s heart drop just a little bit. As does the way Arya’s smile quickly morphs into a scowl. 

“Isn’t that supposed to be an all-girls thing?” 

It’s a cop out if Gendry’s ever heard of one, and not a very good one, which Arya also seems to think. 

“No, Gendry will be there. Try again.” 

There’s still a trace of teasing in her tone, but Gendry can tell she’s close to losing her patience with Jon. 

He can hear the other man exhale loudly on the other end of the phone.

“Arya, you know I-“ 

But she doesn’t let him finish. 

“If you tell me one more time that you have to work, I swear to Gods, Jon –“

“Would you prefer I lied to you then?” 

He can hear the regret in Jon’s voice and it irks him like no other, especially with the growing frustration on Arya’s face.

“No, I’d prefer you choose family over duty, for once.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Well, you deserve it.” 

There’s an awkward stretch of silence then as no one says anything, and Gendry has the distinct urge to give the two of them their privacy. The nervous energy radiating off of Arya keeps him glued to his seat on the couch. 

When Jon changes the subject, Gendry isn’t sure whether he’s happy or not that he stayed within ear shot.

“The baby shower’s not why I called you.”

“Why’d you call then?” 

“The job I told you about. With my relief unit. It’ll be available starting March 1. Have you given it any thought?” 

Arya’s face betrays no emotion and something uncomfortable settles in the pit of his stomach again. Though this time, it has nothing to do with the tension between Arya and Jon. 

In all the time they’ve spent together, Arya never once mentioned a potential job, and while she owes him absolutely nothing, there’s a part of him that can’t help but be annoyed that she never said anything. 

Even if it’s his own fault for expecting anything from her, Gendry’s mood sours considerably, finally prompting him to get up. 

Arya’s gaze flickers to his momentarily, but her actual expression is indecipherable and Gendry doesn’t waste time analyzing it, retreating to the kitchen with her empty wine glass. 

“I haven’t. Let me know about the baby shower, okay?” 

From his place at the sink, Gendry can’t exactly hear Jon’s reply but he is pretty certain that Arya cuts him off mid-way with a curt goodbye. Then he hears the distinct sound of the phone colliding a bit forcefully with the surface of his coffee table. 

“Everything alright?” He calls out as casually as possible, even though his mind is a mess of thoughts and there’s a knot of nerves coiled tightly beneath his ribs. 

“He’s just so frustrating.” Arya answers right away, her voice far closer than before. 

Gendry turns around to find her standing on the other side of the counter again, face pinched into a frown. 

That nervous energy she had earlier doesn’t seem to have abated, and when he passes her a refilled wine glass, she takes it more eagerly than he anticipated. 

“Easy there,” he cautions her quietly as she takes several consecutive gulps. An errant drop of wine escapes the side of her mouth and Gendry tries not to get too distracted by her tongue darting out to catch it. 

His eyes sweep away from her lips to find her stormy gray eyes trained on him. 

The air between them turns more charged the longer Arya stares at him, silently communicating to him exactly how she’d like to work off her annoyance. 

And though his body responds accordingly, blood rushing south at an alarming rate beneath her gaze, his mind is nowhere near there. Not when all he can think about is how there’s now a very real possibility that she might leave Winterfell in less than two months. 

Gendry circles the other side of the counter to put some distance between them. 

“I’m sorry about Jon. I’m sure he’ll come around.” 

But the words sound weak to his own ears, and Arya doesn’t seem convinced either.

It takes everything in his power not to bring up the job, but he knows, it’s not the right time. 

With how high strung she is right now, Arya will either get defensive or shut down completely.

“Maybe enough baby shower planning for tonight?” 

She nods but says nothing and Gendry knows it’s up to him to salvage what’s left of their evening.

And if he’s being honest, he doesn’t really want her to leave. 

“How about a movie then?”

Arya’s face slowly stretches into a smile as she appraises him keenly. Like she’s actually weighing the pros and cons of his suggestion versus her unspoken one.

“Movie sounds good.” 

She picks up her wine glass and walks just a little too closely by him on her way out of the kitchen, the entire length of her arm brushing along his chest.

Gendry’s pretty certain she does it on purpose. 

Sadly, there’s nothing much he can do except suck in a much needed breath and pray to whatever Gods out there to grant him enough self restraint not to kiss her when they’re back on the couch again. 

xxx 

Halfway through an actually decent spy thriller, Arya falls asleep. 

Gendry doesn’t notice at first – his attention mostly on the TV – but once he does, it makes it nearly impossible for him to look at anything else. 

She hasn’t stayed the night since New Year’s Eve. An unspoken agreement between them that Gendry isn’t sure how to feel about, especially now as he takes in the stillness of Arya’s face and the rise and fall of her chest. 

The longer he observes her, the more he notes that unlike that morning, she doesn’t actually look all that relaxed. 

Her lips are almost pursed and there’s a noticeable crease between her prominent eyebrows; one that Gendry wishes he could freely smooth out with the pad of his thumb. 

He doesn’t dare touch her, even though the way she’s curled up into the back of the couch is likely to give her a crick in her neck later. 

No, he decides to be selfish and let her sleep. He knows that if he wakes her, she will leave if not right away, then eventually. If one thing has been made clear to him throughout the course of this evening it’s that he really likes having her around. 

Besides, it’s late now and although she borrowed Sansa’s car to come here tonight, it’s been snowing heavily on and off for most of the evening and he’d rather her not drive in it. 

Not that he would ever voice that particular concern out loud. He likes his limbs intact, thank you very much, and telling Arya not to do something was a sure-fire way to incite potential dismemberment. 

Gendry chuckles to himself at the thought and catches himself mid-yawn as he steals another look at the slumbering woman next to him. He decides not to dwell on how much space there is between them - likely why he didn’t even notice that she wasn’t watching the movie anymore - and decides to get her a blanket before retiring himself. 

He’s barely made it off the couch when he hears a sound that freezes him in place. 

It takes him a second to understand that Arya is talking in her sleep. And not so much talking as _whimpering_. 

The revelation seems to immobilize Gendry, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine as he turns to look at her again. 

His heart clenches almost painfully when he sees the turmoil etched so plainly on Arya’s face. 

Her eyelashes flutter unnaturally against her cheeks and her hands are curled into tight fists at her sides, like she’s gearing up for a fight. 

Gendry wants to do something, anything, but he’d read somewhere once that rousing people from nightmares sometimes does more harm than good. He restrains himself as best he can, wondering if he can wait it out. 

That quickly becomes impossible as Arya starts practically thrashing. Her legs kick out as if she’s trying to get away from someone while one hand clutches at her belly, right where thin, jagged lines lurk beneath the sweater she’s wearing.

Arya grows more and more distressed and it springs Gendry into action. 

“Arya, wake up.” He taps her very gently on the shoulder. 

Although the dream felt like it was all consuming from the outside, he’s immediately met with two very wide, very horrified gray eyes. 

Arya’s instincts have always been better than his, and so it’s not a surprise that in the next second, she’s bolted across the room. 

It doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

As if he needed a reminder that despite whatever closeness they’ve built up to in the last three months, it’s no match for the demons that lurk in the ten years of space between them. 

He wants to get up and go to her, pull her into his arms, or even just tell her that everything will be okay, but his instinct tells him that none of those things will be welcome right now. 

“Are you alright?” he asks carefully, ever so carefully, and it seems to snap Arya out of whatever trance she was in.

Something tight coils in the pit of his stomach as he watches her face grow stoic; mask slipping into place, and he already knows exactly what she’s going to say before she says it.

“I’m fine. I have to go though, I’m sorry.” 

A part of him wants to be angry, and he is. But it’s buried under a mountain of concern and fear and a whole slew of other emotions. Overwhelmed, Gendry can’t find it in himself to do anything but dumbly nod. 

“Okay, I’ll walk you to the car.” 

He stands up but Arya’s quicker as always. 

“No, it’s cool. It’s just out front. I’ll be fine, okay?”

It’s the hint of desperation in her voice that halts Gendry in his place. For all her efforts to appear nonchalant, she can’t completely hide it from him. Oddly, that loosens whatever knot of fear he felt building inside him. 

Makes it easier for him to agree to her ask. Especially when he spots the flash of gratitude in her otherwise passive expression. 

He still walks her to the door and watches as she collects her keys and puts on her shoes. He does his best not to fixate on how her hands shake as she laces her boots and buttons her coat. 

He doesn’t ask her to text him when she gets home, and Arya doesn’t offer. She quietly slips out of his house like she was never really there at all.

It’s only much later, when Gendry lies awake, unable to sleep that he recalls the one phrase that stood out amidst Arya’s incoherent muttering. 

_“Sandor…no, oh Gods, no.”_

xxx


	13. shake it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen.” 
> 
> It feels almost like a false start. 
> 
> But then Gendry looks up at her, eyes so calm and earnest, and her pulse slows down instead of speeding up.
> 
> “I’m sorry about the way I left the other night. I’ve just never really had to explain my nightmares to anyone before, and I didn’t know how to react so-“ 
> 
> Arya stops, because there’s just something almost shameful about finishing that sentence with “I just ran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: when I first mapped this story out, there were three pivotal moments I really wanted to get right. This chapter is one of them. As such, I am more nervous to post this than I think I have ever been to post anything I've written - at least in this fandom. So if you do like it, please let me know. In the very least, it will stop my muse from being so chaotic and anxious ;)
> 
> Chapter title and theme heavily inspired by Florence + the Machine's "Shake it out." As always, I own nothing. Hope you enjoy!

She barely leaves her room for the next three days. 

Sansa comes to check on her after she skips dinner the first day but she never makes it past the bedroom door. After that, Arya mostly gets away with telling her sister that she’s tired or she’ll come out later. 

She doesn’t. 

On the third day, Sansa simply stops trying, resorting to texting instead. 

Arya watches the message notifications light up her phone until it eventually dies. She doesn’t bother charging it; even though she’s pretty sure Sansa’s not the only one trying to reach her. 

Thinking about who else might be trying, specifically Gendry, makes her want to hide all that much more. 

A mix of humiliation and bone-deep fear leaves her paralyzed as she thinks about what all this must look like to him.

She wanted so badly to not let her past and her demons infringe on their new normal. This delicate balance they’ve finally struck after months of tip toeing around each other.

They weren’t anywhere near what they used to be, but Arya had started to believe that it might be okay. That maybe they didn’t need to go back to how they used to be. Maybe that didn’t exist anymore. 

And then her mind betrayed her. 

She’d been so exhausted the last couple weeks. 

Mentally from trying to figure out how to approach Sansa. 

Physically from trying to find some semblance of a routine again. 

A routine that had started to include Gendry. 

Weekly lunches and movie nights and hours spent watching him work in various rooms in the Stark Manor. 

A routine that had started to include the occasional impromptu kiss and firm hands bracketing her hips from behind when she least expects it. 

At some point, she’d gotten lost in the whirlwind. Gotten carried away by the resurgence of emotions growing inside her with every flirty smile they exchanged and every joke Gendry would tell. 

No wonder the carefully constructed walls she’d built up in her mind had started to fracture. 

The nightmare she had a few nights ago had been the first since before New Year’s Eve. 

Arya isn’t delusional enough to think that Gendry is the sole reason she’s felt so much better in the last few weeks, but there’s no denying the reprieve she finds spending time with him.

There’s no denying the way her heart stammers beneath his appreciative gaze, or the way he can make her shiver just by looking at her. 

Every time she’s in his arms, it feels a little bit like the absolution she’s been searching for; and she just wasn’t ready for him to see her like that. 

She wasn’t ready for the poorly concealed alarm and the fear she’d seen in his eyes when she’d first woken up. 

Now she’s been robbed of the only source of true comfort, true distraction she’s had from the maelstrom in her head. 

It makes her not want to do anything, to lie in bed and hide under the covers and push the entire world away in hopes that she wakes up in a new one. 

A new world where she’s not broken; where she isn’t such a coward. 

A world where her partner isn’t dead.

A world where she doesn’t have to wonder what her parents would have thought of her or if Robb would have married Talisa after all.

A world where she wouldn’t have to guess which professional football league Rickon would end up playing for, or if Bran would have pursued a different career if their father and Robb were still alive. 

But more importantly, a world where she didn’t run away the second Gendry had offered her a future all those years ago.

It’s not the first time she’s felt this particular wave of remorse, but it still cuts through her like a knife through butter, causing fresh tears to prickle her already tired eyes. 

Her first weeks in the hospital following Sandor’s death, all she could think about was the mountain of regret over her past decisions. Leaving Gendry in the middle of the night had been at the top of that list. It made her question every single choice she’d made in the last ten years. 

What if she hadn’t left?

What if she had chosen a traditional university like the rest of her siblings?

What if she had gone to Storm’s End? 

Her mind wouldn’t let her be. Then the nightmares started.

For a while there, everything felt like too much, too unfair and unforgiving. The idea of returning to work – back to her former happy place – now made her nauseous, made her palms sweat. 

Arya knew right then that while the knife wounds would heal and scar over; her emotional ones would stay open and raw if she remained in Braavos. 

She needed to come home. 

And she did, she came home. 

But her demons chased her here too, ruining whatever little progress she’s made, forcing her to accept that running from your problems truly didn’t solve anything.

From her perch by the window, she watches as the late afternoon sun casts a golden, almost glittering hue over the snow-capped forest. 

Realizing that the view brings her absolutely no joy, Arya wishes that for once she had someone to talk to. 

Even if they were being paid to listen. 

She hears footsteps outside but they don’t stop, continuing down the hall until it’s silent again. 

It’s Sansa likely up from her afternoon nap – which has become more and more frequent in her seventh month of pregnancy. While she wants to go to her sister, to open the door and let her know she is okay, Arya stays put. 

There’s a part of her that fears what Sansa will think of her. 

How she will look at her after Arya spills the well of pain and shame that’s been sealed up inside her for the better part of a year.

At some point, Sansa’s approval has started to matter more than most and Arya simply can’t put that on her sister’s shoulders right now. 

Jon is out of the question even though he’d be the easiest. He knows the most out of everyone; he would understand. But she also feels like she hardly knows him anymore. 

There’s a wall between them now, but not of her own making. 

This barrier is entirely Jon’s doing and it makes her frustrated and angry beyond belief. Makes her want to beat him into submission for being an obstinate, selfish ass; especially when she needs him the most. 

She shuts her eyes for a moment, as if it can help quell the anger rising inside her. Instead, a vine of guilt wraps around her insides when all she sees is Gendry’s concerned face in her mind’s eye. 

The deep level of caring he’d shown her after he roused her from her nightmare had scared her in that moment. Not because it felt like too much, but because felt herself reaching for it without thought. 

He’d extended a lifeline and she’d nearly taken it – almost like muscle memory. 

The only thing stopping her had been the realization that she’d have to tell him everything. She would need to give him answers, and she just isn’t sure she’s ready to do that.

From her spot, Arya can see the edge of the wall separating the Godswood from the rest of the property. She thinks back to the day she’d sat with Bran there and confided that she never wanted to hurt Gendry ever again. 

And yet…here she is, barely two months later, reneging on her promise.

Regardless of her poor progress in working through her trauma, Gendry didn’t deserve to be brushed aside like that. He’d done nothing wrong except offer her a space to be herself, without question or expectation. 

He’d done what he’s always does for her, for the people he cares about. This simple fact has Arya finally reaching for her phone and plugging it into the charger. 

As she waits for it to power on again, she thinks about Bran’s words from that morning.

_“and how is that not love?”_

She remembers how her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought that she was starting to fall for Gendry again. 

It makes her question whether she ever stopped loving him, and while that’s not a door she thinks she can open at the moment, the idea of hurting him still pains her more than any physical injuries she’s ever sustained. 

It trumps any fear Arya has about opening up to him. Especially when she opens their text conversation and reads the last series of messages he’d sent her. 

_I meant what I said before. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong._

_But I just really want to make sure you’re okay. _

_So please, call or text me back. Maybe I can even help…_

xxx 

Arya’s leg won’t stop shaking as she sits in the back of an uber and stares out into the darkness flying by.

After reading Gendry’s texts, she couldn’t control the swell of emotions expanding her chest like a balloon. 

She’d nervously typed out a question - _ can I stop by? _ \- before hopping into the shower. 

The tears came then, full-fledged sobs wrecking her body; salty rivulets cascading down her cheeks and intermingling with hot water pelting her from above. Instead of exhausting her though, it had felt like a purging. 

It had felt like she finally started to peel back the layers of armor she’d unknowingly put on. 

She suddenly had a purpose again – make sure Gendry understood that she trusted him – and it had unsurprisingly spurred her into action.

Focusing on others has always been her comfort zone. 

And for once, prioritizing someone else doesn’t make her feel like she’s running away from her own problems. 

It feels like she’s running towards a solution, especially given how quickly Gendry agreed to let her come over. She didn’t second guess herself then, getting dressed quickly and calling a car. 

Now all that adrenaline has morphed into a nervous energy she doesn’t know how to expel. Other than to bounce her leg annoyingly against the back of the passenger seat. 

When the car pulls up to a stop outside Gendry’s one-story house, Arya pulls on all her reserves and gets out. 

Strangely though, the thing that brings her the most comfort is the sight of his large truck parked outside. 

She gets so distracted by the memory of Gendry’s mouth slack with pleasure and eyes piercing against the dimness of the parking lot as she moved atop him, Arya almost doesn’t notice the front door open and the same pair of eyes connect with hers. 

Her breath hitches involuntarily at the sight of his handsome face creased subtly in concern. 

“Want to come in?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” she responds almost embarrassingly quickly, but Gendry just smiles and steps aside. 

Despite him giving her a far too-wide berth, Arya feels an overwhelming sense of rightness as she steps into the house. 

She shrugs off her coat and toes off her boots, drawing comfort from the faint sounds of the television, from seeing Gendry’s things spread out across his space. 

She is so wrapped up in her surroundings, she almost doesn’t hear him address her. 

“Want something to drink? I was about to make some tea.” 

Gendry doesn’t wait for her to answer, already moving to the kitchen and running his old-fashioned kettle under the tap. 

Without much thought, Arya perches herself on the same stool she always uses, mind only briefly pausing on all the times she’s been naked on this very counter. The thought makes her stomach lurch and an effort to distract herself, she turns to Gendry. 

“Since when are you a tea person?” 

When she speaks, her voice is hoarse from lack of use, reminding her why she’s here. Why she’s isolated herself for days, barely exchanging a few words with anyone other than Sansa.

“Since I have some fancy teacups to use.” Gendry explains with a hint of mirth as he gestures towards the array of dainty looking teacups and saucers sitting in the cabinet in front of him. 

It catches Arya’s attention right away. 

Gendry might create beautiful things with his hands, but a matching china set seems unlike him. 

“You bought these?” 

He turns to look at her then, a flash of surprise before his face dissolves into a tentative smile; like he’s unsure of the right answer here. 

“Oh, no. They came with the house. It’s a temp rental. Most of this stuff isn’t mine.” 

The sudden reminder that Gendry’s time in Winterfell is not permanent sends a wave of urgency through her. It makes her want to tell him everything as soon as possible. 

As though if she waits, he’ll slip through her fingers the same way Sandor did as he bled out onto the concrete floor. 

“Listen.” 

It feels almost like a false start. 

But then Gendry looks up at her, eyes so calm and earnest, and her pulse slows down instead of quickening.

“I’m sorry about the way I ran out the other night. I didn’t mean to. I’ve just never really had to explain my nightmares to anyone before, and I didn’t know how to react so-“ 

She stops, because there’s just something almost shameful about finishing that sentence with “I just ran.” 

If anyone’s well acquainted with her streak of running, it’s the man in front of her and she’d rather spare them both. 

Gendry doesn’t seem bothered by it, filling in the blanks for her.

“It’s okay, I get it.” 

“How long have you had them, though?” He asks gently a moment later, and Arya’s not sure whether to be grateful or terrified that he knows to keep probing, to keep pushing her to open up. 

“The nightmares?” 

“Yeah.” 

There’s so many different ways she can answer this. 

Her sleep quality diminished years before that horrid night; almost as soon as she started working undercover, but she knows that’s not the answer Gendry is looking for. It’s not the answer she came here to give. 

“They started almost as soon as I was out of the hospital.” 

“And why were you in the hospital?” 

“I was attacked on the job.” 

The kettle whistles before she can say more.

Arya’s oddly glad for the interruption, taking reprieve as Gendry pushes off the counter to remove the kettle from the stove and begin preparing their tea. 

When he pours a splash of milk into her cup, she smiles to herself. After all these years, he still remembers the most trivial things about her; things that some would argue are the most important. 

When Gendry rounds the counter with his own cup to occupy the stool next to hers, she pivots her body to face him. They end up very close to one another, thighs slotted against each other’s. 

And yet, Arya doesn’t feel as exposed as she thought she would being so close to him.

When his eyes flicker to her waist before finding her eyes though, she knows exactly what he’s going to ask before he does. 

“Is that how you got those scars?” 

The crippling anxiety she anticipated doesn’t come. It’s still hard to look him in the eye as she nods, and Gendry seems to sense her discomfort. 

But he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell her that it’s okay if she’s too afraid to open up. It wouldn’t do her any good to keep avoiding this, and they both know it. 

She sits up a little straighter, takes a deep breath and asks Gendry a question she never thought she would.

“Does the name Gregor Clegane mean anything to you?”

xxx 

_She smells smoke the moment she sets foot into the abandoned building. _

_The adrenaline that’s been buzzing through her veins ever since she got the call from Director Tyrell grows with every careful step she takes through the darkened corridor. _

_Flashlight in one hand and her department issued Glock in the other, Arya follows the smell all while trying not to fixate on the question that’s been at the forefront of her mind for the better part of an hour. _

_What the hell was Sandor doing here and why did he go off the grid? _

_They’d just wrapped a successful bust two days prior, one that had kept her under for almost four months. She’d been looking forward to returning to her apartment and to her routine. _

_Unfortunately, that evening included a shit ton of paperwork. Both hers and Clegane’s since he was apparently even less capable of following protocol than she was. _

_That’s what Arya had been doing when her personal phone flashed with an unknown number. _

_She had barely any time to ponder why her boss’s boss was ringing her so late on a Tuesday night. The older woman quickly spat out an address of a building in a pretty shitty part of town and informed Arya that she had exactly an hour to figure out what her partner was doing there before she was forced to call it in. _

_Too many questions all at once filtered into Arya’s mind, but Olenna had already hung up. _

_Figuring she would get answers from her partner when she found him, Arya dropped what she was doing, pulled both her Catspaw and her gun out of the bottom drawer of her desk, and was on the road in less than 5 minutes. _

_She’d tried Sandor at least three times on her drive, but his phone went to voicemail every time. _

_It’s only now as Arya navigates the poorly lit hallway, the increasing scent of smoke letting her know that she’s getting close, that she wishes she would have asked more questions…had more information to go on. _

_Sandor never really shares his whereabouts with her – preferring to keep his work life separate from his personal. _

_Arya usually found this particularly hilarious, taking every opportunity to remind him that cold take out and a TV without cable did not constitute a personal life._

_And while Sandor has been tightlipped about what he does outside the office, on the job, he has always had her back; has always been absolutely honest and transparent in every move he makes. _

_That’s why none of this makes any sense. The closer she gets to the source of the flames, the more her adrenaline morphs into a knot of dread, making it difficult to breathe as she picks up her pace. _

_It’s truly a testament to her professionalism that she doesn’t completely lose it when she rounds the corner and sees her partner lying in the middle of a room; a wall of fire preventing her from seeing him clearly. _

_The flames burn bright and give off an acrid stench that makes Arya cough even though she’s several feet away. _

_She’s been in plenty of high stress situations but Sandor has always been right beside her, the watchful hound at her back, making sure she was covered. _

_He’s never been the one who needed saving. _

_Colliding with that reality proves to be too much. _

_For a split second, Arya feels paralyzed, rooted to the ground, even as awareness starts to push through the haze in her mind; instincts waking up and telling her she has to do something, anything to help. _

_It takes Sandor lifting his head in her direction, hair obscuring his dark eyes, to spur her into action._

_“Sandor. What the fuck happened?”_

_She kneels down beside him, pocketing both her Glock and flashlight to free up her hands so she can assess him for injuries. _

_There’s blood pooling beneath him, and he’s clutching his side, and it becomes so obvious to her in that moment that they are running out of time; that he’s running out of time._

_Yet, when Sandor grabs her arm and croaks out her name, Arya pushes everything aside to listen. _

_Information is her greatest asset right now. _

_She’s not even going to reprimand him for going off on his own and getting himself in this situation. She can do that later, when he’s okay. _

_Right now, she just needs him to talk, and to hopefully hold on long enough for back up to arrive. _

_“Who did this to you?” _

_She tries to locate the source of the bleeding but her obstinate partner is who he is even in such a dire situation and swats her other hand away._

_It’s then that Arya realizes that her own hands are starting to tremble, like her body is catching up faster than her mind. _

_“You need to get out of here, Stark.” _

_“I’m not leaving you; back up will be here soon. Can you tell me who did this to you?” _

_Sandor chuckles in response but it comes out sounding more pained than anything. _

_Then he’s coughing and Arya feels her heart start to race. _

_She looks up to scan the room but the fire has escalated and it’s hard to see beyond the flames and smoke. _

_Panic starts to rise as she wonders for the first time if Sandor will actually last long enough for back up to arrive. Long enough for them both to get out of here safely. _

_There’s just no way in hell she’s leaving him. _

_Not when he’s never once left her. _

_Never once disappointed her in the field. _

_Never once made her doubt that she was safe. _

_For the first time in her life, Arya wishes she was taller or bigger or stronger. That she could lift him and get them both out of here. But there’s no way in hell she can do that. _

_He’s simply too heavy for her. _

_And she’s left feeling desperate and concerned. It’s so foreign to her that she almost doesn’t realize she’s holding Sandor’s shoulder in a death grip until he pulls her closer._

_“Listen to me, you stubborn girl. You better get the hell outta here now or else-…”_

_“Or else what?” She snaps back at him. _

_Of course, he’d tried to argue with her rather than help. _

_“Sandor, I need to get both of us out –“_

_“No, you need to get yourself out before he comes back.”_

_“Before who comes back-…” _

_Sandor opens his mouth to reply – at least she hopes so – but his words get caught by another wheezing cough and Arya just knows, she fucking knows this won’t end well. _

_Determined, she slides one arm around her partner’s shoulders and uses all her strength to lift him but Sandor refuses to budge. _

_“Stop and listen to me, would ya?” _

_Arya's not sure whether it’s the sudden clarity in his eyes, or the emphatic way he implores her. Or maybe it’s just her finally accepting their dire circumstances, but she listens. _

_“It’s too late for me,” he says, and Arya can tell by the way the puckered skin of his cheek goes impossibly pale that he’s lost way too much blood already. _

_The sting of tears is unexpected, but she feels it all the same. Just like the white-hot shame that follows at the knowledge that she’s failed._

_“Don’t talk like that, help should be here any minute. Director Tyrell –“_

_“Fuck that old bat. Listen to me, Arya. You got a family somewhere out there, ya?” _

_She can’t even begin to understand what sparks this train of thought. Doesn’t want to believe that this is some dying declaration of his. _

_But she’s also not the one with blood pouring out of her, so she nods. _

_“You got people who you gotta see, who’d be sad if something happened to ya?” _

_She thinks of Sansa, of Bran, of Jon somewhere out there. _

_She thinks of Theon dead and buried and of their childhood home destroyed by the hand of a maniac that she wishes could be right in front of her now. _

_Unwittingly, a flash of crystal blue eyes and a mouth pulled down in a scowl push to the forefront of her mind. She grabs Sandor even tighter, as if it will somehow stave off the inevitable. _

_“Yeah, I do.” _

_Their faces are only inches apart and if she weren’t crying already, the sight of Sandor Clegane’s half-scarred face stretching into an honest to Gods smile would surely unravel her._

_“Then don’t let this job become everything, okay? Don’t let it be the thing that keeps you from them.”_

_“Sandor, I-“ _

_She’s not sure what she’ll even say but there has to be something, anything. _

_This can’t be the last thing they ever say to each other. But his eyes are closing, and his grasp on her shoulder is loosening and no matter how hard she tries, Arya can’t hold him up on her own and – _

_“Promise me.” _

_His voice sounds weaker too, fainter, like he’s slipping away completely. _

_She hangs her head, breath coming out in one long exhale as her eyes continue to burn. Whether from the smoke or from the tears or some mixture both, Arya can’t be sure. _

_But what she’s certain of is that she has to answer him. He has to know that he’s not alone in this moment; that she’ll do whatever he wants her to if he just holds on, just a little longer. _

_“I promise, Sandor, just hang on, please, just -…” _

_As soon as she speaks, his hand drops completely from her shoulder. _

_Though she’s seen people die before, more times than she’d like to admit, what’s happening now doesn’t make sense to her. _

_None of this feels real. It’s more like a dream, or a horrible nightmare that she can’t escape. _

_Arya squeezes her eyes shut, just a moment to compose herself, but it’s enough. _

_The blow to her head comes out of nowhere, knocking her down right on top of her dying partner. _

_She tries to sit up, still a bit disoriented but very aware of the eminent threat behind her. _

_She’s not quick enough. _

_The next blow goes to her back and Arya cries out in pain, flexing her hand back to reach for her gun. Before she can grab onto it, she feels herself being lifted and thrown with far too much ease across the room._

_She scrambles to get up, gritting her teeth against the ache now coursing through her body; mentally calling on all her fortitude to get up and fight back. _

_But the smoke makes it difficult to see and when the enormous hand comes out of nowhere, she doesn’t escape it completely. _

_It cuffs her on the side of her face, sending her down again._

_This time, she doesn’t get up and when the large shadow descends upon her, all she can do is extend her legs and kick with all her might while her hands shield her face. _

_It feels like she’s pushing against a wall, and the exhaustion and the tears and it all becomes too much. _

_With every blow and every punch, she feels herself grow weaker, and barely notices the sudden emptiness near her thigh, where her Catspaw usually resides. There’s a thought in the back of her head then, a deep wave of regret that only serves to immobilize her further. _

_Regret over not probing her partner more. _

_Regret over not calling her family more._

_Regret over dismissing the only other person who has ever made her feel safe, who has ever made her feel warm in places where she’s cold, so very cold like she is now._

_She’s starting to think it was useless to promise her partner anything. She might die here, in this abandoned building, never knowing the reason why, and never seeing her family again, never feeling warm again._

_Arya doesn’t want to give up, she doesn’t. But it’s still the last thought that crosses her mind before she feels the searing pain cut through her belly. _

_And, then all she feels is sweet relief; all she feels is nothing at all. _

xxx

At some point, her hands had begun to shake. 

Arya doesn’t notice until Gendry settles his much larger palm over hers, thumb tracing an indistinct pattern across her knuckles. 

It soothes her, quelling some of the anxiety that had arisen as she recounted those harrowing moments in the burning building. 

She could practically taste the smoke around her as the words spilled from her mouth, and it takes her a second to compose herself. 

There’s still so much to say. 

Gendry stays silent, but his eyes remain distinctly on hers. 

It takes everything in Arya’s power not to look away. 

“I woke up in the hospital some time later. Aside from the knife wounds, I had a concussion, mild smoke inhalation, and a bruised tailbone. My partner was pronounced dead at the scene.” 

She doesn’t tell him how she’d woken up in the middle of the night, screaming Sandor’s name. 

How it had taken two nurses and a security guard to hold her down after she pulled her IV out of her arm and tried to flee the room. 

Arya is certain that bit of information would surely push Gendry over the edge, given the frustration suddenly coming off of him in waves.

She feels it in the way he grips her hand, gaze sweeping over her as if he’s searching for signs of these injuries now. 

“Fuck, Arya, how did you survive that?” 

His voice is rough and just on this side of panic. 

She turns her palm over and interlaces their fingers, hoping to give him even a sliver of the comfort he’s managed to provide her by simply listening. 

“Luck, I guess.” 

She tries for levity, lips tugging up in a half-smile, but Gendry doesn’t return it, eyebrows knitted as he looks at her.

“What happened to the person who attacked you?” 

“They found his body at the back entrance. He’d tried to escape but was too weakened from his fight with my partner. His autopsy report said he died from blunt force trauma and internal bleeding.” 

She can see the wheels in Gendry’s head as he makes the connection, but then he turns sheepish, shifting his glance away. 

“I looked up Sandor Clegane. When you mentioned him that night, the name seemed familiar. Now I know why. His brother – Gregor – he’s the one who hurt you, right?” 

Arya nods, but doesn’t say anything right away. 

She understands Gendry’s discomfort now. He feels like he’d gone and violated her trust.

As much as she wants to reassure him, the ensuing swell of emotion makes it difficult to speak. 

She chances a glance up at the ceiling, hoping her tears will go right back to where they came from. 

It doesn’t do much other than burn her eyes. 

Gendry seems to understand that she needs time, but the nervous energy emanating from him forces Arya to make eye contact again. She has to let him know she’s not upset with him. 

“If you looked him up, then you probably know about his brother. Gregor Clegane was his real name but in intelligence circles, he was known as The Mountain. His record was extensive. You name it, he’d done it. Drug smuggling, mafia hits, kidnappings, _ human trafficking_. Really nasty stuff…” 

Her voice trails off, throat growing a bit dry from the amount of words she’s spoken in the last half hour. She extricates her hand from Gendry’s to reach for the tea. 

It’s grown cold, but still feels nice and soothing on her tongue. 

“The bureau had him on a watchlist for so long, but no one knew his true identity. Well no one except for my partner apparently. I still don’t know how he managed to keep such a tight lid on it. He’d written his family as deceased on all his bureau records, and he never talked about his personal life, so I suppose no one had a reason to suspect anything. Especially with his success record.”

She places the cup down again and without much thought finds herself reaching for Gendry’s hand again, fingers sliding right back into the spaces he left open for her.

“Director Tyrell told me much later that she had been tailing Sandor for a month prior. While I was on assignment, he started acting really suspicious. He’d disappear for stretches of time, stopped showing up to debriefs. He still kept his check-ins with me and I had no idea, the entire time, I had no clue anything was wrong.” 

She thinks about learning all of this while at the hospital; realizing that the same man who always had her back didn’t trust her enough to have his. 

It had been a punch to the gut that she’d been unprepared for. It haunts her now more than the scars from her own bloody knife. Those at least she’s been able to cover up. 

This though, this crushing wave of guilt and remorse. This, she could never run from. 

Regardless of what her therapist had said. Regardless of how many soothing words of comfort Jon had tried to placate her with in those first few weeks. None of it mattered then and it doesn’t matter now. 

Her partner is dead, because he didn’t trust her. 

The tears start to blur her vision, forcing her to look down at her lap. 

“You know what the worst part is?” 

Using the sleeve of her cardigan, Arya angrily wipes the moisture away. 

“I had been so certain that I’d done the right thing for myself all those years. That this career I built for myself, this job, was worth the sacrifices I made, leaving my family behind – “ 

She looks Gendry square in the eye then, hoping he understands what she can’t say yet. 

That he might be the biggest sacrifice she now wishes she never made. 

“Every assignment Sandor and I went on. It made me feel like there was at least one person I could count on. One person who would be there for me if all hell broke loose. It made everything I gave up worth it. Up until it didn’t. ‘Cause, when my partner needed me the most, I wasn’t there. I couldn’t save him, Gendry, and I-…”

It all becomes too much then, the memories, the ache, the unfairness of it all. It surges up through her like an inferno, catching her words in her throat and pushing them right back inside. 

She makes a move to separate but Gendry doesn’t let go. 

He’s been so quiet, so unmoving, it’s a shock when he tugs her towards him by their entwined hands and then she’s suddenly pressed against his chest. 

For once, Arya doesn’t resist, falling into the circle of his arms and burying her face in his neck. 

He smells like mint and laundry detergent, and something else that she can’t quite pinpoint but that soothes her all the same. 

The longer he holds her, the more Arya wishes she wasn’t leaving tear stains on his t-shirt; that she was strong enough to stand up to these memories without breaking apart as easily as the delicate china he’d poured their tea into. 

“I’m sorry, I wish I wasn’t such a mess but-…” 

Gendry pulls back so suddenly, she almost loses her balance and has to grab onto his bicep to keep herself from falling. 

“You are not a mess, Arya.” 

He says it so emphatically, so surely, it manages to crack her heart just a little more.

She wants to believe him, she does, but everything she’s said and done tells her otherwise. 

She tries to look away, but Gendry doesn’t let her, palm reaching up to cradle her cheek and keep her eyes firmly locked on his. 

“You are a fighter. You didn’t just suffer through something terrible, Arya. You _survived_ it.” 

But has she? Has she really survived? Has she overcome what happened? 

It doesn’t feel like it. 

Instead, it feels like the last year of her life has been some horrible dream, a recurring nightmare where she’s standing still, unable to move, unable to feel, unable to make a single decision without questioning herself. 

Those things she doesn’t dare say out loud, because it’s not up to Gendry to fix her. Regardless of how badly she might want that. 

Still, he is the only one who doesn’t look at her like something to be wary of. He’s the only one who has never lied to her or been dishonest. 

She’s safe with Gendry, she always has been and because she doesn’t know how else to express her gratitude, she turns her head and brushes her lips against the inside of his wrist, right across his pulse point. 

He looks as taken aback by the action as she feels. 

But then his thumb sweeps the apple of her cheek, and Arya instantly feels lighter somehow, like his touch has wiped away more than just the remnants of tears from her face. 

They sit like this for a while, and even though she can feel that Gendry has things he wants to say, and Gods, there’s still so much she needs to tell him too…

About that night. About the things she had uncovered about her partner far too late, Arya isn’t sure she has any energy left.

She intends to tell him as much, to promise that they can talk about this again, but when she opens her mouth, a yawn escapes instead. 

It snaps them of out of their shared reverie. 

Arya can't help but become fully aware of how close they are. 

Gendry’s calloused hand is still cupping her cheek, and his leg is firmly wedged between hers, keeping them linked to one another as much as they can be in this position.

His breath dances across her face, and his touch is so soft, making her feel warm in all the ways she’s craved for years but didn’t ever think she could have again. 

She nearly closes her eyes again when –

“It’s late.”

For a terrifying moment, Arya thinks he’s going to suggest that she go home.

“Why don’t you stay here?” 

“I’d like that.” She says quietly, and doesn’t even recognize her voice, the tinge of shyness coloring her words. 

Gendry smiles as encouragingly as possible and stands to dispose of the cups. 

Arya rises as well, though she’s less sure of what to do with herself. 

She feels restored and unbalanced at the same time, certain of some things but still wary of others. When Gendry finishes cleaning up and turns to her again, she lets him lead. 

“C’mon.”

He walks them through the house, shutting the lights off as they go, hand firm and certain in her grasp. 

When they get to his bedroom, Gendry leaves her by the bed, moving to his dresser presumably to find her something to wear. 

A different kind of heat suddenly runs through her as Arya remembers how unnecessary clothes had been the last time she’d slept here. 

She looks around his room and thinks about how later, when she’s not so exhausted, she’ll take the time to learn more about the space he’s craved out for himself. Find out more about the random pieces of metal and wood covering his desk. Ask him if he's enjoying the paperback that sits splayed open on his nightstand. 

“You can sleep in these.”

He lays the t-shirt and what is probably his smallest pair of sweatpants at the foot of the bed.

“There’s a towel and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll just be on the couch.” 

Arya looks at the pants and knows she’ll drown in them no matter what. The sentiment makes her smile though. 

It also makes her brave. 

“Gendry, wait. Could you -…”

Her nerves almost get the best of her but something in his expression assures her that what she’s asking for isn’t going to be rejected.

“Could you stay?” 

“Yeah.” 

He says it so quickly, it’s almost as if he’s been waiting for her permission. 

The urge to launch herself into his arms nearly overpowers her, but uncertainty - as usual - keeps her rooted to the ground. 

Gendry doesn’t seem to have the same problem. 

Before Arya can even blink, he crosses the span of the room to stand in front of her and is reaching out to stroke her arm. 

She feels the heat from his touch all the down in her toes. 

His palm eventually settles right atop her shoulder, and it gives her the courage she needs to move closer. 

Her own hand snakes up his chest, right over where his heart is beating with surprising frequency, and she feels his exhale skitter across her cheek as she looks up at him.

It's just a moment, just to make sure she’s not overstepping, and then she’s leaning up to capture his mouth. 

His lips are warm, and soft, and willing, always so willing. 

When he opens up for her, he tastes like tea and a hint of beer he probably had earlier in the night.

But mostly, he tastes like home. 

Like water balloon fights and pranks, and heated looks, and premature love confessions. 

And even though they’ve kissed a hundred times before, this feels like the first time they’ve _truly_ kissed. Truly taken the time to savor each other and draw comfort from how seamlessly they fit together, as though they're two puzzle pieces falling into place. As they always meant to be. As they should be now. 

Arya doesn't want to pull away, doesn't ever want to stop kissing him, but the enormity of this realization forces her to. 

She doesn’t go very far, dropping her forehead to rest on Gendry’s shoulder as they both breathe into the space between them. 

“Thank you for listening.” 

“Thank you for telling me.” He says a moment later, and Arya can’t help but look up at that. 

Even in the dimness of the room, she can see the adoration clearly written on his face. 

But there’s also something else there, a quiet intensity that makes her go just a little weak in the knees. 

Her fingers curl reflexively into his shirt and it seems to jolt him. 

Gendry looks somewhere passed her, a tick in his jaw. 

“I’m going to go make sure the front door is locked.” 

Though she knows for a fact that the front door is locked just fine, Arya drops her hand. 

“Okay, I’ll go wash up.” 

Gendry holds her gaze for a moment, before surprising her with a kiss to her forehead that lingers for just a beat too long. Then he’s stepping back from her and walking out of the room. 

For a few minutes, Arya stays put, content to listen to him move through the house. It’s only when she hears him coming back that she finally makes her way to the bathroom. 

Her reflection makes her cringe – red rimmed eyes and pale skin unfortunately not an unfamiliar sight to her. But there’s a lightness in her chest that wasn’t there before.

She holds onto it as she brushes her teeth and splashes water on her face. 

The feeling doesn’t fade when she returns to the bedroom, and automatically slides into the right side of the bed, knowing Gendry prefers the left. 

It doesn’t fade when she feels the mattress dip next to her and tentative fingers reaching out to thread between hers. 

And when she wakes some hours later to find a warm weight pressed against her back and an arm protectively draped over her waist, Arya doesn’t think twice about burrowing deeper into the embrace, falling back into a dreamless sleep.

xxx


	14. bet on you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you trying to kidnap me?” 
> 
> “No. Why would I need to kidnap you when you agreed to spend the day with me?” 
> 
> “Yeah well. I thought we’d spend it lazing around on the couch, watching TV, or…”
> 
> Gendry is a bit ahead of her so he doesn’t see Arya’s face as her voice trails off. He knows exactly what she’s implying though.
> 
> This woman is going to send him into an early grave, he’s certain of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm going to eat my words later but from my last estimation, this chapter marks the halfway point of the story. Yup, if you thought we were anywhere near done, you were sorely mistaken. But we're making progress and I truly appreciate each and every one of you who is along for the ride!
> 
> The last chapter was brutal to write and heavy to read so I hope you all enjoy the bit of lightness that permeates this update. Chapter title inspired by The Man Who. As always, I own none of the characters. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3

Unlike the last time he shared his bed, on this particular morning Gendry doesn’t wake up cold. 

As he reluctantly pries his eyes open and notes that it’s not even proper daylight outside, all he feels is warmth. Warmth and a pleasant shiver that originates somewhere between his shoulder blades, sparking every time Arya’s breath bounces off his bare skin. 

His lips stretch into a smile when he realizes that she’s not only still here but also completely wrapped around him. Her nose is pressed into his upper back and her arm is slung loosely around his waist, fingertips grazing the side of his lower ribs with every rise and fall of her chest.

Gendry’s so entirely and wholeheartedly content that he has no intention of moving. That is until Arya shifts against him and he realizes very quickly that the leg draped over his hips is not encased in the pair of sweats he’d given her the night before. 

He reaches down absentmindedly, curling his hand around the back of her knee. His thumb glides over the bony part, and he marvels – as always – at the softness of her skin. 

She stirs behind him, unconsciously leaning into his embrace, and tightening her hold on his hips. It goes straight to his cock, a sudden awareness seeping into the rest of his body that the source of mind-numbing pleasure is within reach. 

As much as he’d like to run his fingers up her thigh and underneath her t-shirt; wake her up with gentle strokes that will undoubtedly turn her gaze dark and leave a delightful flush on her skin, this isn’t the time for it. 

Not when the image of Arya’s tear-stained face and trembling hands is still so vivid in his mind.

She’d fallen asleep almost immediately after they’d gotten into bed, clearly exhausted from their conversation and probably the self-imposed torment she’d put herself through in the days prior. 

It had taken Gendry hours to fall asleep. The thing that eventually did the trick was Arya snuggling up to him in the middle of the night.

Having her unconsciously gravitating towards him had soothed the residual anxiety lingering in his mind, finally allowing him to doze off. 

Now, all that dread and anger he felt last night is back again. And yet amidst all of it - injustice over what happened to her, frustration over how she's isolated herself as a result - there's also a flicker of hope and relief that she’s safe and she’s with him. 

And more so that she wants to be here.

It spurs him to turn around, to see for himself that Arya is alive and well, and not going anywhere. 

He doesn’t anticipate colliding with a pair of oddly alert gray eyes when he turns over, but that’s exactly what he gets. 

There's not a trace of discomfort or awkwardness in them; and Arya doesn’t move away from him. She lies perfectly still, watching him with a soft expression on her face. It prompts Gendry to reach forward and brush the hair off her face so he can see her more clearly. 

She leans into his touch, rubbing against his palm like a kitten. The tension in his spine, the telltale sign of arousal, travels up to his chest, morphing into something else entirely as they continue to silently admire each other.

There’s no other way to describe it, and it feels more intimate than anything they’ve done so far. Any of times they've fucked, even when it’s been in this very bed. 

His throat grows a bit dry at the revelation but it doesn’t scare him. Gendry doesn’t think anything really could anymore, not after what Arya had told him the night before. There are still questions swirling in his mind, but right now all he wants is to preserve this moment; stretch it out for as long as he possibly can before the rest of the world infringes on them. 

“Stay for breakfast?” 

He’s rewarded with a look of quiet surprise that dissolves into sleepy smile. 

“Yeah, but let’s not get up yet.” 

Gendry smiles as he nods, dropping his hand from her face down to her thigh again. 

“Okay.” 

He scoots just a bit closer to her, enough to slide her leg more comfortably over his hip, but Arya doesn’t seem satisfied with the position. 

She pushes him onto his back and drapes herself half on top of him instead. Gendry doesn’t protest, easily wrapping his arm around her and pulling the covers over both of them. 

The steady beat of Arya’s heart – just inches away from his – quickly lulls him into unconsciousness.

xxx

The next time Gendry wakes up, he’s alone. Though the blinds are still shut, he can tell it’s well into the morning. 

He hears faint sounds coming from somewhere in the house. It instantly occurs to him that even before he spotted Arya’s clothes still neatly folded on top of his dresser and heard what he can now barely make out as her voice, he had absolutely zero doubt that she’d still be here when he woke up. 

It’s testament to how swiftly things have changed between them in the last two months – if he’s being honest, over the course of one conversation really. It imbues him with an energy he hasn’t felt in quite some time, and he rises eagerly out of bed. 

A pair of sweats, and a quick trip to the bathroom later, Gendry follows the sound of Arya’s voice until he finds her in the kitchen, pacing the length of the counter. 

She’s on the phone but immediately locks eyes with him when he enters her line of sight. The smile that immediately graces her face distracts Gendry enough that he almost doesn’t notice one of his old flannels draped over the t-shirt she’d slept in. 

That, paired with the easy way she gestures over her shoulder at the coffee maker, indicating that she’s brewed a fresh pot, sends his mind into a tailspin. Thoughts of what ifs, and could be’s, and the possibility of waking up to this every morning makes his chest swell with a quiet hope that threatens to overwhelm him. 

Before he can fall further into that particular rabbit hole, he makes his way over to the coffee maker and extracts two mugs from the cupboard above it.

While he’s dispensing coffee, Arya exchanges stern words with whomever is on the other line and hangs up. 

When he turns around to hand her a mug, he finds her in front of him, leaning against the kitchen island with knitted eyebrows. 

He yearns to reach forward and smooth out the furrow, but instead just hands her the coffee he poured for her. 

“Who was that?” 

Arya blows out a huff of air as she cradles the mug between both hands. 

“The stupid florist. How hard is it confirm that you can in fact deliver 50 peonies to a residence three weeks from today?” 

“Arya, it’s a Sunday.” 

“So?”

Gendry can’t help but smirk over the rim of his coffee cup. 

She’s clearly frustrated but it’s a surface type of irritation. One that does nothing to conceal the spark that’s in her eye. Gone is the uncertain, almost skittish woman who showed up at his doorstep last night. There’s a lightness about her that wasn’t there before and it’s infectious. 

“The florist isn’t even open today.” 

“I might’ve gotten his home number.”

Her response is so casual, so _Arya_-like, Gendry finds himself letting out an uncharacteristically loud laugh, tilting his head back as he leans against the counter.

“What! I’ve been chasing this dude for a week.”

She sounds incredibly annoyed, but the wide smile on her face belies her frustration. 

It reminds him that she’s still the same Arya who befriended him instantly and wholeheartedly in their youth. She’s still the same Arya who stole his heart when he barely knew what it meant and never gave it back. 

If last night is any indication, she’s also the same Arya who has only ever trusted a handful of people, and he’s damn lucky to be one of them. 

The least he can do is show her that trusting him is worth it. 

“Speaking of Sunday, you got any plans today?” 

“Nope, I actually texted Sansa earlier not to expect me home until later.” 

“Presumptuous of you.” 

Arya arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, sending a familiar thrill down his spine. One that gives him an odd cause of déjà vu, for how strongly he associates it with her and their easy banter. 

“You saying you want to get rid of me then?” 

She peers at him over the rim of her mug, gray eyes intense but also whimsical somehow; presenting him with a challenge that only heightens his urge to cut the distance between them and show her exactly how much he in fact _doesn’t _ want to get rid of her. 

This up close though, Gendry can see that her eyes are still red rimmed and there’s still a pallor to her skin. These little signs act as reminders of last night’s conversation, keeping him rooted to the ground. 

“Not even a little bit.” 

They haven’t discussed where they stand with each other, not since that New Year’s morning when she couldn’t get out of his house fast enough. While they may not be ready to talk about it just yet, Gendry’s never been one to shy away from making his position known. 

Especially if it means he can catch the infallible Arya Stark off guard, which it seems he’s done now with his simple comment. 

His triumph lasts only a moment.

Arya takes the opportunity to invade his space. Keeping her eyes trained on his, she reaches behind him for the coffeepot, effectively trapping him between herself and the counter. 

The heat from her proximity reminds him that he hadn’t put on a shirt, and when her breath fleets along his bare chest, it wakes up parts of his body that have no business being roused.

If Gendry were a better man, he might have stepped away himself, but whatever little willpower he had before seems to have completely evaporated and he reaches for Arya’s waist, fingering the soft material of the flannel. 

“Thief.” He murmurs teasingly, not missing her sharp intake of breath as she refills her mug and then pours him some as well. 

It’s nice to know that he’s not the only one whose affected by all this. 

“Alright, I’m all yours for the day then, but on one condition.” 

It takes him a second to register that Arya is speaking to him, but he does his best to clue in and clear the haze of lust from his mind. 

“And what’s that, Stark?” 

He hides his flush behind the rim of his coffee cup but Arya can still see it clearly. He doesn’t mind it so much if it keeps her looking like that, all radiant and calm. 

“I was promised breakfast.”

“Of course, what a one-track mind you have.” 

This time, he does move, narrowly escaping the swat that lands on his shoulder.

“Eggs alright with you, milady?”

“Yes, but don’t call me that.”

And his heart absolutely doesn’t expand tenfold when she says that. 

Nope. Not at all. 

xxx

“Are you trying to kidnap me?” 

“No, why would I need to kidnap you when you agreed to spend the day with me?” 

“Yeah well that was before. When I thought we’d spend it lazing around on the couch, watching TV, or…”

Gendry is a bit ahead of her so he doesn’t see Arya’s face as her voice trails off. He knows exactly what she’s implying though and chooses to ignore it to retain some semblance of sanity. 

This woman is going to send him into an early grave, he’s certain of it. 

“Since when is Arya Stark intimidated by a little hike?”

She doesn’t respond immediately, which causes Gendry to stop and turn. 

For once, she’s actually dressed for the weather – thick jacket zipped up to her neck and hood pulled over her head. Dark curls peek out, framing her long face, which is only slightly tinged with pink around her nose and cheeks. 

She looks so utterly inviting, Gendry feels a gravitational pull towards her. Her poorly concealed frown and downcast eyes prevent him from acting on it, reminding him of his poor choice of words. 

Just because her knife wounds have healed and scarred over doesn’t mean her body is completely back to normal. 

Gods, he’s an idiot. 

“Sorry about that; I guess I am as stupid as you always said I was.”

“It’s okay,” Arya says much too quickly to actually mean it. 

The way she starts chewing on her bottom lip, like she’s debating something very important, makes it really hard for him to believe she’s actually okay. 

He opens his mouth to say something else, anything else really to rectify the situation but she beats him to it. 

“I realized I sort of saddled you with a lot last night. If you have any questions, I can answer. I mean, I _want_ to answer.” 

Her openness doesn’t so much catch Gendry off guard as it unfurls something deep inside him. Given the intensity of their conversation last night, he’d mentally written off any further discussion around this topic. 

And yet here Arya is, putting herself out there again. 

He knows, he just _knows _ it’s more for his benefit than anything else. 

There’s really only one question that’s been on his mind since the night before, only one that concerns him, and he’s not actually sure if he should ask. 

But Arya is looking at him with large, hopeful eyes, and her breath has evened out, and there’s a lookout up ahead where they can stop, so Gendry chooses to take a metaphoric leap of faith. 

He silently motions for her to follow him a bit further until they’re off the trail and in the clearing formed by several big trees leaning towards one another. 

The light breeze that filters through is just biting enough to make him want to shove his hands in his pockets, but it’s not strong enough to sweep the snow off the trees or from the ground, and it truly feels like they’re alone up here. 

He’s suddenly reminded of another conversation they had in the middle of woods once. Even then, he'd known she wasn’t alright. His need to appease her had been part of why he agreed to tell her about the fire, about Theon, about everything. 

Today feels very different from that. 

“Have you ever considered therapy? It helped me a lot when I first moved to Storm’s End.”

He doesn’t miss the flicker of guilt that crosses her face, nor does he try to correct her in her potential assumption that her leaving might have caused him to seek help. 

There’s no reason to dance around the obvious anymore. 

Arya seems to agree.

“I had one in Braavos as part of the mandated recovery process, but not since I came home.” 

She glances down to the ground between them, but then her tumultuous gaze is back on him again, faster than Gendry can formulate a response. 

“Do you have one here?” 

“No. I stopped going a couple years ago. Not because it stopped helping but because I felt like I finally had enough coping mechanisms not to fall into shitty patterns of behavior.” 

“Shitty patterns like what?” 

The genuine curiosity in her tone makes him smile. 

It also reminds him that despite spending tons of time together recently, they’ve never really delved into his past. 

“Like excessive drinking. Turns out the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree on that one.”

He kicks at a lump of snow, mostly to give himself something to focus on other than the intensity of Arya's eyes on him. 

“You and Robert could not be more different.”

She says it with so much conviction Gendry would like nothing more than to believe her. Still, it has taken him a long time to even hear his father’s name without instantly simmering, so he can’t stop the bitterness from seeping in. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“No, I really wouldn’t be.”

He’s still looking away so the only indication that Arya’s now directly in front of him is the crunch of the snow beneath her feet. Then her hand is wrapping around his forearm as she tries to get his attention.

“I may not know too well the man you’ve become but I do know the boy I grew up with and I refuse to believe you’re anything like your dad. Your similarities end at the physical, and even then it’s weak. Robert got fat pretty quickly, and I don’t see that happening to you, any time soon at least.”

Arya makes a point of giving him an appreciative sweep even as she half-teases him. Try as he might, Gendry can’t stave off the flush that carries to the tips of his ears. 

“I thought we were supposed to be talking about you.” 

“We are,” she looks sheepish as she says it, and damn it, if it doesn’t tug at his heartstrings. 

As does the fond smile on her face as she looks up at him with those large, expressive eyes of hers. 

“But there’s nothing wrong with a gentle reminder that you are nothing like Robert Baratheon. I saw that at 14 and I see it now.” 

Her grip on his forearm tightens and it feels like an anchor tethering him to this moment, to the space between them. The words seem to come easier then. 

“Robert was really a small part of it. The real source of my anger and abandonment issues stemmed from losing my mom and ending up in the system. Robert simply made things messier. Both by showing up and then with his unexpected exit.” 

He’s purposefully evasive about Robert’s death, still somehow uncomfortable discussing it with Arya, given who she had lost at the same time. 

Maybe that’s why he’s not prepared for the wariness in her tone, like she’s afraid to know more. 

“Abandonment issues?”

He lets out a breath, not surprised she chose to hone in on that, but also needing a moment to articulate what he’s trying to say clearly. 

“Yes. Therapy helped me accept that my childhood wasn’t my fault. That I didn’t do something to warrant my mom’s death or Robert not knowing I was being bounced from home to home. It was just a string of shitty luck and it didn’t need to define the rest of my life. Once I could admit that to myself, it got easier to deal with everything else.” 

He tries to take a step back, but Arya doesn’t let go.

“When you say the rest, you mean me leaving right?” 

“Yeah, but not just that.” 

He pauses then, suddenly unsure whether it’s even worth it trudging all of this up. The sudden flash of Arya’ face from the night before – when she’d chosen to confide in him – prompts him to continue. 

“Look, I’m not going to lie and say it didn’t fucking suck when you left, and that I wasn’t pissed. But believe me when I tell you, I had a lot of other buried shit to deal with. In some ways, you leaving actually forced them to the surface.” 

She doesn’t look so convinced, gaze dropping to the snowy ground between them as she pulls her lip between her teeth again. 

“It was still a shitty thing that I did to you.” 

She sounds so small, so defeated, so unlike the woman whose teasing smile and glittering eyes had made his stomach swoop so pleasantly as they sipped coffee together in his kitchen. 

Gendry finally gives into his urge to touch her, looping his gloved hand around her neck to get her to meet his gaze again. 

“Yes, it was a shitty thing to do but if the last couple years have taught me anything, it’s that it’s much easier to live if you don’t fixate on the negative shit all the time.”

She says nothing, but a little bit of that uncertainty drains from her expression. 

“Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t left, Arya, but I can’t think like that. What I do know for sure is that if you’d stayed, I never would have even seen a need for therapy. A need to find other ways of dealing with the shit in my head besides booze and anger.” 

“I wouldn’t have let you do that.” 

The sureness in her tone, paired with the way she doesn’t step away from his touch, fills him with warmth, and yet – 

“Yeah, you probably wouldn’t have, but at what cost?”

It’s not a fair question to put out there. He’s had years to think through it. To agonize over it in his sessions, and then some. It’s obvious though that for as firm as Arya had been months ago about leaving being the right choice for her, she’s never thought about it being the right thing for him too. 

And while Gendry’s not sure he’ll ever completely agree with how she’d left, he’s done enough work on himself to know that the blame is not entirely on 18-year-old Arya’s shoulders. 

He had a part to play too, and there’s no reason for her to carry the burden of guilt alone. In fact, he’d rather she focus on something else for the time being, like her own well-being. 

“Anyway, I know you said you wanted to tell me more about that night, about your partner, and you know I’m here for you, but talking to a professional might help you more. Whether it’s here in Winterfell or elsewhere.”

Despite the flicker of dread that sparks at the prospect of Arya being somewhere far away from him, Gendry knows it’s still very much a possibility. She’d told him months ago, in the garage, that she didn’t plan on running away. 

But running away and leaving are two different things, and while he’s certain she’ll never simply disappear on him again, everything else…well, it’s still not off the table. 

The thought prompts him to separate from her, but Arya doesn’t let him go too far, reaching for his hand and twining their fingers together.

Even through his gloves, he can feel the warmth of her touch and it fills him with a stupid amount of joy. Joy that – perhaps foolishly – trumps any thought of her leaving. Joy that he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in far too long. It leaves him just a little breathless. 

“I do plan to stick around, you know.” 

There's a fierceness in her gaze; as if she wants to imprint the words onto his brain. 

“I’m not going to pretend that the idea of trying to find a someone I trust to listen to my bullshit doesn’t fill me with dread, but after the last few days, I know I need it. You helped me see that, so thank you. For that, and for everything.” 

She squeezes his hand and smiles so shyly at him, the urge to lean in and capture her mouth makes Gendry dizzy. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Arya. Really.” 

“Yeah, I really do.” 

As if she’s reading his thoughts, she leans in closer, and then her lips skirt the side of his jaw, just like she did the night before. It’s all she does though, but it's enough for him to bite back a groan of frustration.

She’s really testing his patience. 

“And you just proved my very point.” 

Her words – as smug as they are – thankfully distract him. 

“Oh yeah, how’s that?” 

“You care about people in a way that’s rare, Gendry. Even when they don’t deserve it. And maybe that does have to do with your childhood, but that alone sets you apart from most people, Robert included.” 

She pauses then, as if she’s not sure if she should say what she wants to next, but Gendry doesn’t dare move an inch or utter a word. Letting her decide how she wants to play this. 

“And maybe you’re right about the whole ‘seeing the positive about awful shit’ thing. I still wish that night never happened. I wish Sandor was still alive. I wish I didn’t feel sick every time I thought about picking up a gun.”

She looks somewhere passed him for just a moment, but then her eyes are back on him with the same quiet intensity as before. His heartbeat speeds up just a bit, as if his body knows that what she’s going to say next will somehow shift things between them. 

“But if things had worked out differently, who knows when I would have come home, _if _ I ever would. Then who knows if Sansa would have ever told me about her pregnancy, or if I’d have ever seen you again…and well that just isn’t something I want to think about. Ever.” 

It feels like the closest to a confession of feelings that either of them has uttered. 

Gendry wants to sit with her words. Wants to let them percolate in his head and wrap around his heart the way he surely knows they will, leaving him to ponder all the possibilities she’s just unwittingly opened the door to.

In true Arya fashion though, she doesn’t give him time to do any of that. Doesn’t give him the time to potentially spill his own truths or even just tell her that he’s equally as grateful that she found her way back home, back to him, despite the tragedy that led her here. 

Instead, she suddenly reaches for his hand and tugs him back into the direction they came from. 

“C’mon, let’s finish this damn hike. I’m getting hungry.” 

And Gendry lets himself be pulled by her, because for the first time since they’ve reunited, he feels like he doesn’t have to rush his words or dance around her. 

He’ll have time later to tell her how he feels. And he plans on it. 

xxx 

He’s still thinking about it that evening as he dries the last of the dinner plates. 

The vibration from his phone – sitting next to the sink – is what ultimately draws his attention away from both the task at hand and Arya’s words. 

Though he can’t pinpoint exactly why, seeing Sansa’s name on his mobile screen makes Gendry feel as though the domestic bubble he and Arya have been submerged in all day has suddenly burst.

He hasn’t spoken to the older Stark sister since he’d texted her the night before, letting her know Arya was on her way to his house. Her tense response – _ oh ok, good _ – sent back almost immediately had confirmed Gendry’s suspicions. 

Whether intentionally or not, Arya has shut her sister out. 

Reading Sansa’s text now – _ how is she? _ – leaves him with a weird sense of responsibility. He knows exactly what he has to do, but has very little desire to do it. 

He and Arya have just finally found their footing, and although the last thing he wants to do is disturb that delicate balance, he also knows that if there’s anyone Arya will listen to, it’s him. 

The woman in question chooses that moment to emerge from the bathroom. For a moment, Gendry forgets what was he is so concerned about. 

He watches from his spot in the kitchen as she grabs her boots and starts to lace them up, not even paying him any attention really. Yet, the entire thing feels so natural, so right – her so effortlessly existing in his space – he wonders if there will ever be a time when he’s not utterly captivated by her sheer presence alone. 

A part of him hopes it never comes. He hopes he never snaps out of this spell she has over him, because nothing can feel better than this. Better than waking up in the same bed as her. 

Better than spending the day with her. 

Better than being open and honest with her; his heart feeling fuller than it has in months, in _years_ if he’s being honest. 

“Ready to go?” 

Her question snaps Gendry out of his reflections, reminding him that he had planned to take her home. 

He’d braced himself for an argument when he’d offered earlier, but Arya had surprised him, agreeing with nothing more than a smile.

It made him wonder then, as it does now, whether she doesn’t want this day to end as badly as he doesn’t. 

The possibility prompts him to dry his hands on the dish towel before crossing the span of the kitchen to meet her in the foyer. 

The weight of his phone, tucked into his back pocket, stops him from fully reaching for her, and whatever is written on his face must give him away because in the middle of putting on her coat, Arya fixes him with a concerned stare.

“Everything okay?” 

“Everything is perfect.” 

The words spill out of him almost involuntarily, but it doesn’t make them any less true. 

Arya’s expression instantly shifts, eyes narrowing and lips pulling into a skeptical smile. 

“Then why do you look like you’re one scowl away from becoming grumpy Gendry?”

He can’t help but snort at that, not at all surprised that she’s both so attuned to him and doesn’t let him off the hook. 

“Sansa texted me, asking if you are alright.”

“Oh.”

Recognition fleets across Arya’s face, catching the shadows in her eyes as she glances down at the floor. 

“I know, it’s not my place, but I really think you should talk to her.” 

He thinks she might take longer to consider her answer, but Arya surprises him as usual, looking up to meet his gaze as she expels a sigh. 

“I know I should, but I’m…I’m scared. I don’t really know why but I am.” 

He isn’t prepared for the honesty and the uncertainty, but there’s an inkling of relief there as well. Relief that she’s not pushing back on him, that she’s not putting up walls, that she's actually admitting what scares her.

It feels like a victory in all the ways he imagined it would and before he knows it, Gendry is bridging the small gap between them, backing her nearly into the front door as he grasps her by the elbow. 

“Her opinion matters, and I get that.” He says quietly, as if raising his voice above a whisper will somehow disturb this moment between them.

“But I think you should give her the benefit of the doubt. It might even make you feel better about the whole thing.” 

Standing so close, Gendry can see exactly how many variations of gray make up the unique shade of her eyes; how her pale pink lips firm into a line as she considers his response.

And though he knows this is the right thing to do, he’s still beyond relieved when those same lips curve slightly upward, and Arya tilts her head to the side, amusement filtering into her expression. 

“Since when did you become so wise, huh?” 

“I’m telling you, therapy works. But I also have two sisters of my own, who for better or worse always hold me accountable, and as annoying as I find it, it’s usually for the better.” 

“I want to know more about them, your sisters, I mean.”

It’s not the response he’s expecting, but it’s one that fills him with a ridiculous amount of excitement all the same. The idea of Arya meeting Bella and Mya and maybe even liking them is something Gendry never let himself think about and now…

But he’s also swiftly reminded that while he and his sisters are geographically scattered at the moment, the Starks are finally in the same place for the first time in a decade…and they shouldn’t squander this chance at honest reconnection. 

“Okay, but only if you talk to Sansa. Yeah?” 

If Arya is annoyed by his insistence, she doesn’t show it, but she also can’t resist the urge to roll her eyes at him. It serves as another glimpse into what they could be, what they _ were _ before life got in the way. 

“Alright, deal.” 

Though Gendry should be elated that she’s agreed to his suggestion with minimal pushback, standing so close to her now – practically towering over her as she leans back against the front door – all he can think about is how good it felt when she kissed him last night.

And also how difficult it had been to restrain himself when he’d pulled away to find her looking at him with all the love and adoration that he was absolutely certain was a reflection of his. 

Because it is love. In whatever shape or form it can be, there’s love between them. Just because they can’t say it yet, doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

And yet, it’s the unspoken words that push him to step back faster when Arya leans in this time, before her mouth can properly seek out his. 

She doesn’t appear disappointed by his retreat, if anything, there’s a hint of mirth in her expression, and it does nothing to tame his desire for her whatsoever. 

“You know, you’re starting to make think that maybe you don’t want to kiss me anymore.” 

And neither does her subtle tease. Mostly because it could not be farther from the truth.

Gendry lets himself indulge in the soft gasp that falls from her mouth as he reaches up to run his thumb along her bottom lip. The way Arya instinctively leans into him sends a bolt of electricity straight through him, causing him to lean further into her until they're breathing the same air. He presses his arm over her head, right into the door frame, like he'd done months ago when they'd stumbled into his house, unable to resist the tension simmering between them. It's different now, but it's also very much the same, and he has to let her know that. 

“I’m never not thinking about kissing you, Arya. In fact, if you’re around, you can rest assured that I’m thinking about kissing you, and sometimes even when you’re not –”

“Then what is it?” 

Her impatience only reinforces his decision to be honest with her. To try and do this the right way with her. To not repeat past mistakes. 

“This thing between us is too important, _you’re_ too important and I don’t want to mess it up.”

It’s the closest he’s come to voicing exactly what she means to him, and the weight he didn’t know he was carrying lifts suddenly and wholly when she smiles at him.

“What do you suggest then?” 

“Go on a date with me.” 

“A date?” 

The only sign that Arya’s surprised is the subtle lift of her eyebrows, but it’s enough for Gendry to know he’s thrown her a curveball. It doesn’t deter him in the slightest. 

In truth, he hadn’t thought this part through but it feels like the best impulsive move he’s ever made. 

“Yeah, we’ve kind of done things backwards and I want to do it right, you know?” 

“Yes.” 

Her response is breathless almost, one word filtering into the tiny space between them, and even though he knows what she's agreeing to, there's still a small part of him that can't quite believe any of this is real. 

“Yes, as in you’ll go on a date with me?” 

“Yes, Gendry, I’ll go on a date with you.”

Her tone isn't frustrated this time, or edging on annoyance, or anything but calm, and sure, and it feels like yet another barrier successfully torn down between them.

The anticipation that’s been sitting low in his belly suddenly blooms into full blown elation, expanding his chest as they continue to stare at each other. 

“Okay, good.” 

Arya's face splits into a grin again, and then it’s of the outmost importance that he move away from her, before he reneges on his promise. It’s almost physically painful to drop his hand from her cheek and step out of her space, but he does it. And Arya lets him. 

“We should go. It’s late and knowing Sansa, she’s probably waiting up until you get home.” 

“You’re probably right.” 

She waits patiently for him to dress and turn off all the lights before they step outside onto the porch. 

The air is crisp and fresh, and though Gendry is the last person to say he’s fond of winter, even he can’t deny that there’s some hint of renewal in the air. A scent of possibility lingering all around him. 

Or maybe his mind is just playing tricks on him. 

He gets lost in it all anyway, soaking up the moment until Arya’s words – loud and clear – filter through the stillness. 

“I think you’re wrong. I don’t think we did things backwards.”

She turns to look at him and her eyes appear almost silver against the light of the moon, leaving him a little dizzy and a lot smitten. 

“How’s that?” 

“We were friends first.” 

Once again, she doesn’t give him a moment to ponder her words, already moving passed him. This time, Gendry is ready for her.

He reaches for her hand, interlacing their fingers and squeezing hard. 

Arya says nothing, squeezing his hand right back and then tugging him down the stairs. 

Later, when they are both safely in the car, and Gendry reverses out of the parking spot and onto the main road, her hand finds its way back into his, and stays there the entire car ride. 

xxx


	15. i wanna get better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once in her life, Jon is not the person Arya wants to turn to in her time of need. Jon is not the one she’s gravitating towards. No, that place in her heart is reserved for someone else; someone taller and broader and with eyes that remind her of Essosi seas.
> 
> Just thinking of Gendry reminds her of the heat that raced through her body as he towered over her and openly admitted to constantly fighting the urge to kiss her. It's all she could think about in the days since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to update exactly one month apart but I consider it a good omen. Lots of fun (and not so fun) stuff happens in this, and the title, stolen from the trusty Bleachers, could not be more appropriate. 
> 
> Thank you as always to everyone who reads and comments on this story. It definitely keeps me going. Enjoy <3

The wind bites at her skin, making every breath more difficult to draw in than the last, but Arya doesn’t mind. 

She keeps pushing forward, forcing her legs to move; reveling in the rapid sound of snow crunching underfoot. 

Her eyes are mostly focused on the snowy path ahead but every so often, she looks around, taking in the forest flanking the running trail she’s chosen this morning. The view fills her with a foreign sense of calm that she has a hard time putting away. 

For the first time in months, she feels strong, energized, no longer like she’s sinking into quicksand, unable to grasp anything that will keep her from sinking. 

Even though her body isn’t where it used to be, at least her mind no longer feels like it’s in complete shambles, overrun by demons that have chased her home. 

A little piece of it, of _her_ has been freed. 

While that could be attributed to a whole slew of reasons, Arya knows it has everything to do with finally telling Gendry what happened to her the night Sandor died. 

Once she started talking, she found that she couldn’t stop. 

Not even as the tears came, and her mouth went dry, and the chill ran down her spine. 

Not once did she think about stopping, about it being perhaps too much, or unwelcome. 

Not with Gendry’s eyes trained only on her and his hand sturdy and warm in her grasp. 

He hadn’t given her the courage to speak – no, she’s had that all along – but he coaxed it out of her, unspooling the knot of fear and insecurity that held her insides in a tight ball. 

It hasn’t unfurled completely yet, but it’s a start, and Arya can feel herself breathe a little easier. 

It had been so long since she told anyone about that night, just the simple act of sharing the story had been cathartic. It also helped her realize that it wasn’t just Sandor she’d been mourning this past year. 

The time she spent in the hospital had been consumed with the shock and shame of not being there for her partner in his time of need. Knowing that he’d lied to her for pretty much the entirety of them working together only made it worse, and everything else became a giant blur. 

It was only when she’d been discharged and assigned a department therapist, that Arya realized the full impact of her trauma. 

Realized the full extent of what she’d lost that night – her passion and love for her career being at the top of the list. 

It hit her when she’d arrived for her first therapy session and couldn’t bring herself to get out of the car and walk into the nondescript office building she’d spent so much of her time in.

It felt like the years she’d spent working towards something had evaporated like the smoke rising from the depths of that warehouse.

And when she did tell Dr. Crane about it, it’d been too late. 

Her hands had already started shaking every time she even went near her gun – let alone thought about returning to the field. 

That chapter of her life ended abruptly, without her permission, leaving her directionless. Too exhausted to move but too unaccustomed to staying in one place to exist in the aftermath. 

So, she returned to the place she’d avoided her entire adult life, landing right back into the thick of everything she’d run from. 

Right back to coexisting with her sister in a house full of familial ghosts, and right back into Gendry’s orbit. 

Except it’s different this time. 

Despite the unspoken words between them, she and Sansa have found a rhythm, and she and Gendry…well…her breath starts to speed up for an entirely different reason when Arya thinks about how grateful she is for his presence. 

For his calmness and his support, but mostly for his understanding. 

It’s still difficult to comprehend how things had shifted so quickly – how one nightmare had meant the difference between continuing to bury her demons and letting someone else see that part of her.

And not just anyone, but Gendry specifically. When she let herself go, let her walls down, he didn’t disappoint. 

He made her feel safe, reminded her that not everything was her fault, tapping into her biggest fear and extinguishing it almost entirely. 

And if she’s honest, he’s probably always had that effect on her. At least on the rare occasion she’d let him in. 

No one has ever been as adamant about her not letting her past dictate so much of her present and future. 

No one is as committed to reminding her that you have to look at the positive side of the coin to make sure that life’s unpredictable current didn’t pull you under. 

That you didn’t buckle under the weight of all the shit you had to deal with.

Gendry hadn’t buckled. 

In fact, he’d emerged on the other side of all his struggles with an awareness and peace that had been calling to Arya from the moment she locked eyes with him after ten years apart. 

Even now, thinking about the weekend they’d spent together has her cheeks flushing from something other than physical exertion. 

It might have been the emotional drain from their conversation, but the second night she’s now spent in his bed – her first without getting naked – had been the best night of sleep she’s gotten in quite some time. 

Waking up next to Gendry had settled her in some way, reminding her that she always had a safe place to go, somewhere she wouldn’t be judged. Somewhere she could be herself.

She’d been a little surprised to find out that he was such a promoter of therapy, but in retrospect it made sense, and knowing even a bit of what he’d gone through and worked through, made her feel brave herself. 

Just yesterday, she’d fired off an email to her old therapist, asking her for recommendations in Winterfell. It truly felt like a step in the right direction and the simple act of doing it made her feel more accomplished than she has in months. 

It’s what gave her the motivation to forego her usual indoor work out and venture out for a jog in the woods surrounding the manor. It’s also given her the clarity she’s needed to take a step back and start asking herself what she wants from life. 

While she’s not entirely certain what her next professional step will be, Arya knows with certainty that it’s not the job Jon had repeatedly offered up North. She’s not ready to leave Winterfell again, leave her family again for a job. 

No, she thinks as she slows down her gait, it would take something else of greater importance to take her away from here. 

Now if only she had any desire whatsoever to reach out to Jon and let him know her decision. 

Thoughts of him are the only ones capable of souring her optimism, of infringing on this lightness inside her.

As she comes to a stop finally, giving her body a much deserved bit of respite, Arya thinks about how she’d rather hold onto this feeling, to this bit of happiness inside her for a little longer.

Besides, Jon clearly has the opposite priorities in mind – avoiding home at all costs, it seems. 

As unsettling as it is, for once in her life, Jon is not the person Arya wants to turn to in her time of need. Jon is not the one she’s gravitating towards. 

No, that place in her heart is reserved for someone else; someone taller and broader and with eyes that remind her of Essosi seas.

Just thinking of Gendry’s eyes reminds her of the heat that raced through her body as he towered over her and openly admitted to constantly fighting the urge to kiss her. 

His words - _ this thing between us is too important, you’re too important _ \- had quelled that ugly insecure part of her that had been wondering whether he was spending all this time with her out of obligation. 

They’re past that point now. That much is obvious. 

What isn’t obvious though is how they will move forward. Arya finds herself leaning into it anyway. Unable to deny the flutter of excitement that the prospect of a date with Gendry has spurred. 

In general, being around him has become nearly intoxicating, addictive, reminiscent so much of how it had been before she’d left and fucked everything up. 

She hadn’t been ready then, she knows that now, and maybe she’s not ready for everything that this could mean too but she’s open to exploring it. Open to getting to know who he is now and all the experiences that have shaped him. 

And it seems like Gendry is ready for that too.

For the first time since arriving home, the future seems like it’s actually within her grasp. The realization sends a sharp thrill of adrenaline through her and Arya decides she’s had enough of a break. 

As she looks around at the majestic trees lightly dusted with snow, and the early morning sun peeking out from behind them, she inhales deeply, taking in the smell of pine and snow and utter nostalgia. 

The air seems to vibrate through her entire body, expanding not only her lungs, but also her heart, her stomach, and her legs - lighting up every muscle as she takes off in the direction she came from.

Back to the manor. 

Back to her home. 

xxx 

_Dear Ms. Stark, _

_It’s wonderful to hear from you. I’m glad things are going well since you returned home. I was pleasantly surprised by your request. Last time we spoke, you gave the impression therapy was not for you, but I’m happy to hear you seem to have changed your mind._

_I don’t have any direct professional connection with the names I’ve provided below, but they all come highly recommended. Should none of them work out, I’d be happy to do virtual sessions. Something we can discuss if the need arises. Please don’t hesitate to reach out with questions. _

_Good luck!_

_Regards,  
Dr. Crane_

She’s about to look up the first name on Dr. Crane’s list when Sansa walks into the kitchen. 

Her sister seems preoccupied with something on her phone, and Arya takes a moment to study her. 

With her auburn hair pulled half-way up and the long, soft looking gray cardigan draped over her shoulders, Sansa instantly reminds Arya of their mother.

The parallels between Catelyn Stark and her oldest daughter have always been there but it’s only now that Arya can truly reflect on them with some semblance of objectivity. She’s spent years since Catelyn’s death oscillating between guilt and grief for all the ways she wishes things had been different between them, but there’s no denying that Catelyn Stark did her best as a mother. 

It’s something that had taken Arya a long time to admit, to fully accept that her mother had only ever wanted what was best for her, and it took her even longer to accept that Sansa had an entirely different relationship with the matriarch. 

That just because Catelyn and Sansa had more things in common, and perhaps understood each other a bit better, didn’t mean their mother loved Arya any less. 

She’d always fixated on all the way she wasn’t good enough while Sansa checked off all the boxes. It never really occurred to her that the pressure to be perfect; to hold up the standards everyone else set for you could be a prison of its own. 

Arya hadn’t thought about it at all.

Mostly because Sansa carried the burden well, very rarely complaining or showing weakness – much like her mother always had. 

It makes her wonder whether it was Catelyn Stark’s ghost, slipping into the space between them, that made Arya all the more nervous and afraid to tell Sansa why she’d returned home. 

And if that were the case, then she was also depriving herself of the comfort and reassurance that Gendry had spoken of. 

And even if she hadn’t promised him she’d talk to Sansa, she’d still owe it to herself to try. 

The thought prompts Arya to shut her laptop, finally catching her sister’s attention.

“Hey.” 

“Oh, hi.” 

She’s met with a startled look, which makes her wonder exactly what had captured Sansa’s attention so much on her phone, but Arya decides to shelve that for later. 

She rounds the kitchen island instead and perches herself against it. 

“Can we talk?” 

There’s no surprise in Sansa’s expression this time, only a quite sort of understanding, almost like she’d expected the question. If Arya already hadn’t been thinking of their mother, she certainly would now. 

“Sure.” 

And okay, maybe she hadn’t thought this all the way through, because now that Sansa’s attention is entirely on her, she’s not sure what to say. 

She isn’t even sure she can tell Sansa the entire story, not so soon after having told it to Gendry, but she does owe her some form of explanation. 

And if her sister can understand one thing, it’s grief, so it makes sense to start there. 

“I know I haven’t told you much about why I came home, but it’s been hard to talk about, because I lost my partner on the job.” 

Sansa doesn’t say anything, but the quite sort of encouragement in her light blue eyes is enough for Arya to keep going. 

“He got himself into some trouble, trouble he didn’t tell me about, trouble that he thought he could handle on his own. It resulted in him getting himself killed, and me having to witness it.” 

It’s testament to her progress that her voice doesn’t crack through that sentence; not like it did three days ago when she’d essentially told Gendry the same thing. But there’s still something like a knot forming beneath her ribs and Arya looks up from the ground, searching out Sansa’s eyes in case there’s even a shred of comfort there. 

She finds it in spades, both in Sansa’s face twisted in concern and in her words. 

“That must’ve been horrible.” 

From anyone else, this would feel like a cheap platitude, not something that would soothe the ache of the memory, but coming from her sister, it feels like the exact thing Arya needs to hear.

“It was, and it haunts me till this day that I couldn’t help him.” 

“That’s a tough thing to come to terms with.” 

Sansa confirms with a tinge of something like understanding in her tone, and Arya finds herself at a loss for what to say next. 

Luckily, her sister seems to pick on her indecision. 

“Is that why you kept to yourself last week?” 

Her question is gentle and just the right amount of vague to give Arya an out if she wants it, but she doesn’t take it. 

Instead, she surprises both of them by pulling out the chair across from Sansa’s and dropping into it. 

“A little after it happened, I started having horrible nightmares. Some from the night he died, some from other things I’d witnessed on the job. I was alone most of the time so I never had to actually address them, not really. Not until I fell asleep at Gendry’s and –“ 

Her voice trails off then, not sure how to formulate anything beyond that. But Sansa doesn’t seem like she needs anymore, not with the recognition passing across her face. 

“Ah,” 

It’s just a syllable but it’s somehow reassuring all the same, and though Arya has a hard time looking up from where her eyes are trained on the tabletop, the words flow out much more easily. 

“Yeah. It was just a lot to deal with, and well you know yourself, I have a tendency of pushing everyone away when I’m processing shit.”

“I do.”

There’s no judgement in Sansa’s tone. In fact, as Arya confirms when she finally gathers the courage to look at her sister’s face, there’s not a trace of it anywhere. 

“I know it’s not an excuse for shutting you out, but I’m working on it. And I’m sorry I worried you.” 

Whether it’s the sudden urgency in her tone, or something else that prompts Sansa to reach forward and settle her hand over hers, Arya doesn’t question it.

She and Sansa have never been tactile with each other – their complicated relationship never creating the space for them to be physically affectionate. But as Arya feels the warmth of her sister’s hand on top of hers, she can’t help but revel in it, a smile tugging on her lips. 

She expects Sansa to return it, but instead finds her turned to the window, staring out into the courtyard. 

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it.” 

Arya is truly not prepared for the depth of emotion when her sister finally levels a gaze at her. 

“I didn’t have nightmares after the fire, after Theon died, but that was mostly because I just didn’t sleep.” 

And suddenly it all makes sense. The acceptance, the way Sansa’s barely probed her the entire time she’s been home; how she went through Gendry to check in. 

“How did you deal with it?” 

The softness of her own voice surprises Arya but she doesn’t bother feeling embarrassed by it, not when Sansa smiles ruefully at her, squeezing her hand again. 

“By relying on people.”

It seems so simple when she says it, but both of them know it’s anything but, and it prompts Arya to deliver an apology that might be a little too late anyway.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

“I know you are,” Sansa reassures her, “but it’s okay. I dealt with it. We all did, and you know, it reminded me of something pretty important.” 

“What?” 

“That as terrible as it is to lose someone close to you, it makes you stronger. And sometimes, it can even lead to a little bit of good too.” 

Though the first thing that pops into Arya’s head is Gendry – Sansa’s words reminding her that something good did come out of her opening up about her nightmares – that’s not what she fixates on. 

If it were anyone else, she would have missed it, but the melancholy that washes over Sansa’s face as she gazes down at her bump is all Arya can see. 

And still, probing her sister to open up about her truths takes a backseat to her sudden desire to wipe the forlorn look off her face. 

“Are you busy today?” 

It takes Sansa a second to respond, no doubt consulting her mental to do list, like she’s had the tendency to since they were children, and just the simple act makes Arya grin wider than she thought she could at the moment. 

“Not really, just a few e-mails to send. Why?” 

“Because I’m taking you out of this house. I think what we both need is a day of self-care, how about it?” 

Arya doesn’t think she has seen a bigger smile on Sansa’s face since the morning she bounded into the room and announced that they’d all be going to a New Year’s Eve Party. 

The mere mention of that day makes her think yet again of how she’d ended that evening; invoking flashbacks of calloused fingertips settling low on her back; blue eyes burning a path down her chest and silently entreating her to move....

It’s embarrassing truly, how easily she can fall victim to those delicious memories but Arya does her best to push them aside. 

This is about her and her sister right now. Not whatever failed attempts she can make to ignore an attraction that seems as natural as breathing to her now. 

She clears her mind just in time to see Sansa nod eagerly. 

“Perfect, let me go grab a quick shower and we’ll get out of here.” 

She stands up and rounds the table, but Sansa doesn’t let go of her hand. Instead, she moves it to her belly, and Arya is about to ask her why when she feels it.

The pressure and then a thump, and then another. She isn’t prepared for the wave of absolute emotion; the way her heart seems to balloon in her chest as she stares at her hand in wonder.

“She’s quite the kicker, isn’t she?” 

“Yeah.” 

Arya agrees, momentarily thrown and completely in awe.

Logically, she knows this happens. 

Babies kick and move all the time in-utero. After everything Arya has lived through, she didn’t think she’d ever be surprised by anything anymore, let alone something this good, this _pure_. 

“I reckon this one’s going to be a football player.” 

She finally says after successfully fighting back the prickle of tears. Sansa’s eye roll properly distracts her from the onslaught of emotion.

“That’s exactly what Gen said when he felt her kick.” 

Arya has to exercise every ounce of her willpower to not give away the impact of Sansa’s words. 

Because the thought of Gendry’s stupidly expressive face twisted in wonder as he feels what she just felt is a little too much for her mind to handle right now.

“I’m sure he did.” 

She says as nonchalantly as possible and changes the subject. 

“Be ready in 30 then?” 

If Sansa picks up on her insistence to avoid, she says nothing, simply nods. Arya chooses to focus on her sister instead. 

It’s much better than wayward path that her mind almost sends her on, including wondering what Gendry would look like holding a little blue or gray-eyed baby in his arms. 

Nope, she’s not going to think of that or him at all… 

xxx 

It’s easier said than done not thinking about Gendry. 

He texts her around noon, asking if she’s free for lunch and somehow they end up going back and forth about what an ideal sandwich should include. 

A completely innocuous argument but one that has Arya grinning to herself enough for Sansa to send her several surreptitious looks as they move from store to store. 

Arya expects a full inquisition by the time they sit down at her favorite coffee shop – a pot of tea and a plate of the most incredible lemon cakes between them – but Sansa doesn’t probe her further.

Instead, they talk about the nursery, the baby shower, and the fundraiser the Reeds are hosting for Bran in the same week. 

The conversation flows easily, without disruption or awkward silences, reminding Arya once again that for all the unspoken words between them, and their rocky past relationship, they’re still sisters, still family. 

It also reminds Arya of what their dad used to say to her when she and Sansa would get into particularly nasty fights as kids – _you may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts._

Back then, she didn’t pay much attention to those words, too busy stewing in the anger and frustration of having the perfect sister while she herself was constantly shoved aside. 

But now, she thinks she understands what her father meant a bit better, and it only confirms for her that Gendry had been right as well – siblings were meant to be in your corner, not your adversaries. And thankfully, it seemed like she and her sister were finally on the same team. 

The realization stays with her throughout the remainder of the day. 

After putting Sansa to bed – two Bridget Jones movies and an enormous amount of take out later – all Arya can think about is calling Gendry to tell him that at least in this particular situation – not on the topic of appropriate lunch options – his advice was on point. 

By the time, she’s cleaned up and shut off all the lights downstairs, she already knows a bath is in her future. 

The stiffness in her muscles, a sign her body was protesting the rather aggressive jog from that morning, had been bugging her on and off all day. 

As soon as Arya sinks into the warm water, relief flows though all her muscles and joints, starting at her toes and traveling all the way up to her shoulders; only stopping at the part of her that’s not submerged in the lavender scented bath. 

She spends just a few minutes with her eyes closed, reveling in the tranquility of the silence and the steam rising from the water. 

In the quiet, with nothing to occupy her, her thoughts stray to Gendry again and she doesn’t hesitate reaching for her phone and dialing his number. 

She dips her finger in the water, drawing patterns and watching the ripples they create as she waits for him to pick up. 

It almost goes to voicemail when suddenly there’s a click, and then a rushed exhale. 

“Hello?”

“Running somewhere?” 

Her tease is rewarded with a soft, quiet laugh that makes her feel like he’s right there next to her. 

Right in the warmth beside her. 

The thought alone has Arya pressing her thighs close together, reminding her just how long it’s been since they’ve been together like that. 

“Nice try, but no. Just couldn’t find my phone. You know how I am.” 

“I do.” 

Gendry has made it pretty clear that if it were up to him, he wouldn’t even have a cell phone, and it somehow makes him all the more endearing to her. 

“Hope I didn’t pull you away from anything important.” 

“Not at all.” 

A smile spreads across her face at his quick insistence, and then a shiver skitters up her spine when he adds, 

“I’m just in bed, what’s up?” 

It takes all of her mental fortitude to ignore the more salacious images that pop up in her head. She congratulates herself of sounding as calm and collected as she does. 

“Just wanted to say thank you.” 

“Oh?” 

It’s hard not to miss the surprise in his tone; yet another reminder of how absolutely unaware Gendry is of how much he’s helped her. 

“I talked to Sansa.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Not about everything but it was a start. You were right, it did make me feel better so, thanks for that.” 

“That’s great, Arya. I’m glad.” 

And his tone suggests that he really is, which only incites her to share more. 

“I also got in touch with my old therapist, back in Braavos. She gave me some local recommendations. I’m going to research them and pick one.” 

“Oh, wow, that’s-“ 

“What?” 

“Nothing. I just wasn’t sure you were sold on the whole therapy thing, I guess.”

Arya knows that what he’s really saying is that he wasn’t sure she would follow through. While there’s an inevitable spark of irritation that comes alongside that, she can’t deny that past precedent isn’t in her favor on this one. But it doesn’t mean she can’t do things differently from now on. 

“Well have you ever known me to do anything half-way?” 

This time, his low laugh feels like it ricochets off the sides of the tub, leaving her mind in a haze that has nothing to do with the steam curling all around her. 

“Fair point. I don’t think you’re capable of half-assing anything.” 

“Thought so,” she quips back, feeling a bit smug, but it doesn’t last very long. 

The air shifts between them as Gendry clears his throat. 

“All jokes aside, I’m really proud of you, you know that?” 

And she does. She can tell how sincere he’s being and that tug on her heart, the one that has been pushing her in his direction for so long now, makes her smile. 

She gazes down at the bubbles, just to have something to focus on as she fights off the heat creeping up her neck. 

“Thank you, that means a lot.” 

“Nothing to thank me for,” Gendry replies rather quickly, and because Arya isn’t sure what to say to that, she says nothing. 

Instead, she relaxes against the back of tub, shutting her eyes again and reveling in the satisfaction of knowing that for once she’s made the right call for her mental well-being. 

And well, if the sound of Gendry’s steady breath on the other end of the phone adds to the soothing atmosphere, she’s not one to argue with that. 

The fact that they haven’t hung up, and that neither actually seems to be in a hurry to do so, does make Arya keenly aware of exactly where she is. And when she moves a moment later, the disruption of the water, crashing against the porcelain edge of the tub, might as well be a tsunami for how loud it seems. 

“What are you doing?” 

Apparently, Gendry’s heard it too. 

The slight hesitation, like he almost doesn’t want to know, sends a thrill shooting right down her middle. 

“Taking a bath.” 

There’s a pause, and then a heavy sigh; one that makes her skin prickle. 

“Are you trying to torture me?”

“No, I’m just trying to take a bath.” 

But maybe she does want to torture him now, just a little bit. Turn the tables for once and make him feel half the burning need she feels whenever she’s in his proximity. 

“Is that a problem?” 

“_Arya-_“ 

In the absolute silence of the bathroom, her name spilling from his lips is like a warning. One she wants to ignore. Badly. 

She tries to keep her breath steady as she dips her index finger back into the water.

“I mean if it violates your whole ‘doing things right’, we can hang-“

“It doesn’t.” 

His interruption is so firm, so finite, it sends her mind into a tailspin, conjuring up images of what Gendry might be doing in this very moment. 

“Oh ya?” 

“I’m not the one touching you, am I?” 

And maybe it’s the slight teasing edge that prompts her to tease right back – 

“No, but who says I am.” 

She really shouldn’t be so ballsy, so full of herself, because at some point in their exchange, she’d submerged her whole hand underwater. Now her fingertips are dragging along her sternum, just shy of where she actually wants them – 

“Am I wrong?”

It’s enough though, especially when paired with Gendry’s question, and Arya can’t resist the deep sigh that escapes as her fingers finally graze over the swell of her breast. 

“N- no. You’re not.” 

“Good, then don’t stop.” 

The unexpected sternness in his tone goes straight to her clit, amplifying the sudden ache there, and a curse slips past her lips as she pinches her nipple hard. Just as hard as she imagines Gendry would if he were here.

She feels lightheaded from it, but also hyper aware of seemingly every nerve ending in her body, just as she is of the phone pressed to her ear - 

“To be clear, I do wish I was there.” 

Even through the daze, Arya can still hear his desire, that rampant need that seems to flow right through her. She grabs onto it, because if she can’t have his hands on her, his mouth, his tongue, then she at least needs his words, his promises – 

“What would you do if you were…here, that is?” 

“I’d start at your neck,” his words flow over her like honey, making her stomach lurch; her fingers more insistent now, pinching and pulling and sending delicious sparks of heat right down to her clit.

“I’d kiss that one spot under your left ear, the one that makes you shiver no matter what.” 

Just the memory makes that patch of skin tingle, and Arya has to bite her lip to stifle her moan.

“I get so hard when you do that, Arya. You’ve got no idea.” 

And she wants to tell him that she has some idea, what with how desperate and wanting just his voice alone leaves her, but her mind isn’t cooperating very well. 

All she can muster is a low, desperate whine that mingles with her shaky breath as her hand slips from her chest to her ribs, dragging over her scars and down, down, down until – 

_Oh. Fuck._

As soon her hand slips between her thighs, her back arches off the tub. She doesn’t know how he knows, maybe she’s said it out loud, but it doesn’t matter, because Gendry’s talking again, his smooth voice guiding her, pushing her, _overwhelming_ her– 

“That’s it, just like that.” 

And she listens, doesn’t think she could stop even if she wanted to. 

Not with the absolute bolt of heat that reverberates through her as her fingers brush against her slit, and then dip inside. 

Her teeth dig deeper into her lip as she feels exactly how wet she is, and she already knows her own hand won’t be enough. 

Not when she’s had Gendry’s fingers on her and inside her. Not when she’s gotten used to their strength, to their roughness, to their insistence as they press and curl and twist. 

“Gendry, I can’t – “ 

“I told you not to stop, didn’t I?” 

And his words, his _command_ feels like the exact jolt she needs. 

In the next second, she’s got two fingers in and the pad of her thumb pressed firmly against her clit, and even though it’s nowhere near enough, it’s still _something_. It feels so fucking good, she nearly drops her phone right into the water. 

She’s glad she doesn’t because the next time Gendry speaks, it’s not just the idea of him that starts to flow into her mind but also a specific toe-curling memory. 

“Do you remember that time in my truck? How hard I made you come with just my thumb on your clit?”

She does remember. 

She remembers exactly how long he toyed with her, bringing her to the edge only to reel her in again.

She remembers how that orgasm rippled through her, leaving her breathless and shaky and unable to do anything but bury her hands in his hair and kiss him senseless. 

”You looked so good that night, Arya. You _always_ look so good.” 

And she wants to tell him, wants to describe in vivid detail just how incredible he made her feel, but all that spills out of her mouth is his name – just two syllables that seem to push her closer to the edge. 

“I wonder if you’re gonna come like that for me now. Are you?”

And suddenly, the rush of her own pulse floods her ears, and her heart begins to stammers in her chest, and she doesn’t even care that the water splashes out of the tub as her hand moves faster, and faster. 

She _can’t_ care; not when the sparks of pleasure that are shooting up and down her spine are so, so potent; all converging in the sweet, sweet throb in her center. 

Despite being miles away, it feels like Gendry is right here, continuing to whispering everything he’d do to her with his lips on the edge of her ear.

Telling her how much he loves sucking on her breasts and playing with her nipples and watching her face as he slides inside her.

Arya can almost picture that it’s _his_ fingers moving inside her, and _his_ thumb stroking over her clit, and that her leg is wrapped around _his_ waist instead of the tub’s edge.

And in one glorious moment all that beautiful tension, the tight coil that’s left her suspended for so many moments of near delirium, finally snaps.

Her release washes over her in soft waves, starting at her core and flowing up her belly to her breasts, then down her legs, rattling and sedating every inch of her; from the tips of her hair to her toes. 

She gives into the aftershocks too, lets them push her back against the tub, her trembling leg slipping back into the water as she tries to catch her breath. 

“You okay?” Gendry asks, while sounding anything but. Despite the haze, her mind still goes there. 

“I am but you didn’t –“ 

“It’s fine.” 

Arya would tease him for his abruptness were it not for the tremor that runs through her at his sharp exhale.

“Gendry.” 

And then there’s that damn chuckle again, with just the slightest hint of weariness laced through it. 

“I don’t think I’ll be forgetting how you just sounded any time soon, so don’t worry about me.” 

And try as she might, Arya can’t stop herself from smiling at his implication. 

It makes her want to say all the things she’s already been thinking about. 

Like how they really should rethink this decision of his to do things right, because what they just did is right; the things he makes her feel are right, and fuck waiting. 

Whether intentional or not, Gendry saves her from spoiling what’s otherwise a perfect moment. 

“It’s getting late.”

“Yeah.”

Her agreement is somewhat rushed and she swears she can feel him smile on the other end of the line. 

“You’ll be alright, ya?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Go to bed, old man.” 

“Hey, who you calling old?” 

“You.” 

Gendry’s ensuing laugh manages to put her further at ease. 

”I’m looking forward to our date.” He adds, after a moment, and she’s quick to agree.

”Me too. Very much so.”

The brief silence that follows feels like a shared moment, an acknowledgement of yet another barrier taken down between them. 

When Gendry eventually bids her good night, Arya lets him go without much protest, still reeling from the pleasant lethargy that’s now fallen over not only her body but also her mind. 

Despite the water being cold now, she stays right where she is, aware her legs are nowhere near ready to support her.

The possibility that Gendry is at this very moment feeling all the same things she is keeps her warm enough.

xxx


	16. role reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her tone is soft this time, not adversarial or defensive, and it gives Gendry the courage to ask the question that he wishes he'd asked sooner. 
> 
> “But how is it any different now? What’s really changed?”
> 
> And Arya could say a million things that would make him feel like an ass, because he sort of is in this case but as always, she surprises him.
> 
> As always, she’s the brave one, the one who bridges the gap between them just enough to rest her hand on his bicep as she searches his eyes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a monster of a chapter but in my defense, you get a couple cool side characters, a flashback, an adventure, and some much needed resolution. Plus Gendry POV, which is like catnip to me apparently. Title taken from a song by Skinny Living. As always, a mountain of thank yous to all you lovely readers out there. I hope you enjoy <3

Light spills onto the second floor landing, casting a warm and iridescent glow on the wood paneled corridor. 

Gendry pauses at the top of the stairs, taking a moment to appreciate the view. 

Less than a year ago, this entire area had been charred to a crisp, reeking of smoke and burned wood. Now, it gleams in the late morning sun, smelling of fresh paint and something he can never quite pinpoint but has always associated with the Stark Manor. 

It might be the diffusers Sansa has strategically placed around the house, but Gendry reckons it’s more the scent of home that has begun to permeate the air again. That essence of comfort and security that had been extinguished by the fire. 

Not wanting to dwell on that particular event, Gendry shifts his focus to the Arya’s bedroom door. 

He thought she might be in there, but the door is ajar just enough to confirm that the room is empty. She hadn’t been downstairs either. He’d even peeked into Ned’s study, despite being quite aware that Arya hasn’t set foot in that particular room since returning home. 

He’s about to head back downstairs when he hears sounds coming from the nursery.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Gendry moves down the hall and pushes the door open to find Sansa standing by the dresser, folding a pile of onesies. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi.” 

Sansa greets him with a smile over her shoulder without pausing. 

“What’re you up to?” 

Gendry crosses his arms and leans against the wall, appraising the tranquility of the space. 

“Just putting away a couple things Arya and I bought last week.”

He’s ready to tease her, noting that the stack of onesies she’s working through is considerably more than a couple, but Sansa speaks first. 

“How about you?” 

“Trying to find your sister. Have you seen her?” 

“Arya is in the attic, doing something top secret that I’m not supposed to know about.”

She says this with a huff, and Gendry can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. Whatever Arya is up to probably has to do with the baby shower, and it’s evident that it’s bugging Sansa like no other that she is being kept out of the loop. 

“Looking for her for any particular reason?” 

For the first time in a long time, he feels like he has nothing to hide when it comes to his relationship with Arya. It’s tough not to feel a surge of elation every time he thinks about how much closer they’ve gotten in recent weeks and about their upcoming date.

Realizing he still hasn’t answered Sansa’s question, Gendry clears his throat and steps further into the room finally. 

“Had some time to kill and wanted to see what she was up to.” 

“Ah, slacking on the job then. Your boss must not be very strict.” 

Gendry snorts at that, walking the perimeter of the wall opposite the dresser and crib. It’s the one adorned with a mural of various farm animals frolicking in the field, basking in sunshine and blue skies. 

He smiles to himself as he runs a finger along the outline of a cheerful cow chewing on a bale of hay. Lem really outdid himself on this one. 

“I’ll have you know I just did a quick scan of the first and second floors and it all looks really good. I think we can probably close out the contract with the crew by next month.”

“Oh wow, that was quick.”

Gendry would wonder about Sansa’s definition of quick were it not for the sudden shift in her tone. 

They’d never really discussed what would happen once the renovation was complete. He leased his house for a year, assuming he would return to Storm’s End by then. However, lately - and Gendry’s rue to admit it has quite a bit to do with the woman supposedly in the attic - he’s had a lot of trouble imagining himself leaving Winterfell so soon.

Especially when he is less than two months away from birth of his goddaughter. The thought triggers a smile but also brings to mind other, far more important matters that have been weighing on him ever since the uncomfortable FaceTime call Arya had with Jon a few weeks prior. 

“So, Bran will be at the baby shower?” 

Sansa still hasn’t turned to look at him but she nods, opening the top drawer of the dresser and dropping a stack of clothing into it. 

“Yeah, he’ll be here for the fundraiser the Reeds are throwing him. The timing worked out.” 

Gendry isn’t sure if his next question will be welcome but he doesn’t stop to think about it.

“Any chance Jon will make it? Arya really wanted him to.” 

From his position leaning against wall, he sees Sansa’s shoulders subtly tense. 

If he didn’t know her so well, he’d barely notice but he does, and a strange sense of déjà vu washes over him. They’ve had this conversation before, and judging from her initial reaction, Gendry is pretty sure his probing will yield a similar result as last time. 

“That’s between him and Arya then, isn’t it? I’m not in charge of the guest list.”

It strikes him right then how all their lives the two Stark sisters have been drawn as opposites. 

One wild, one demure. One carefree, one reserved. One checking off all the boxes of being a proper lady, one chucking that list right out the window. 

Yet all Gendry can think about in this moment is how similar the two of them are. 

Both as stubborn as all Seven Hells and equally as unrelenting. 

But the stakes are much higher this time. He can tell that Arya is getting impatient, frustrated with Jon’s evasiveness and Sansa’s silence. Gendry can so easily picture the shitstorm that will descend upon them all if she finds out about all this in some other way. 

“Sansa.” 

“Gendry.” 

He’s seen Sansa through hell and back and he’d happily follow her right back if needed, but something about staying quiet doesn’t feel right. 

“Look, all I’m saying is it would be the right time for all of you to -“

The slam of the dresser drawer cuts out whatever else he was going to say and then Sansa is facing him with blue eyes that would remind him of Arya’s stormy gaze if they weren’t so damn cold. It’s been so long since Sansa has looked at him with this much frostiness. 

“To what, Gendry? Gods, you and Bran make it sound so easy. Like I can somehow bend Jon to my will. It doesn’t work like that.” 

“That’s not what I-“ 

“Can we just drop it?” 

And he could let it go, just like all the other times, he can turn a blind eye to it but the sinking feeling he gets in his chest every time he thinks about this has only grown the more time he spends with Arya. 

“No, I don’t think I can.” 

This time there’s absolutely no mistaking the firmer stance Sansa takes as she backs away from the dresser to stand in the middle of the room. 

“You don’t think this is eating at me, Gen? I’m the one who has to look my sister in the eye and lie to her. I’m the one who has to pretend like I don’t know why her favorite person refuses to come home. ” 

The iciness in her gaze has given way to something else entirely, and it pulls at his heart strings, because he knows above all else, she means it, and yet – 

“If it’s getting to you so much, then why don’t you say something? Why are you keeping quiet when it’s clearly not what you want to do?”

“Because it’s not that easy, Gendry. I made Jon a promise and I am going to honor –“

But that’s not good enough for him. It might have been a few months ago when neither of them were sure where they stood with Arya or why she was back, but now. Now everything has changed, at least for him, and he’s not going to stand idly by while this entire situation grows out of proportion. 

“Fuck honor.” 

He so rarely curses he’s not surprised by Sansa’s slightly taken aback expression but she says nothing, so he pushes off the wall to come stand in front of her. 

“Honestly, Sans. This is making you miserable and for what? Why do you have to suffer just because Jon is being a bloody coward? Why do you have to keep secrets from your sister just because -” 

For a split second, Gendry thinks he’s gotten through to her, but the second he says the word secrets Sansa’s eyes narrow and she juts out her chin defiantly – reminding him yet again of the similarities between the two Stark sisters. 

“You mean like she’s keeping secrets from me?” 

The question doesn’t catch him so much off guard as it fills him with a sense of dread. Some part of him had known it would come up eventually, but it’s not enough to put him off. 

“It’s not the same and you know it.” 

“No, actually I _don’t_ know. I know there’s more to her coming home than simply her partner dying. And I know she’s confided in you but she hasn’t said much beyond that to me. So don’t stand there and lecture me on honesty –“ 

She makes a valid point but something about her words irks him more than Gendry would like to admit. Maybe it’s because he knows the nature of Arya’s secrets but whatever it is, it won’t let him capitulate. Not until he can get Sansa to see reason.

“Don’t turn this around on her. Whatever Arya is or isn’t telling you doesn’t cancel out the fact that the longer you keep this from her, the worst it will be. For everyone.” 

And he almost thinks he has her, he really does but then – 

“For everyone, or for you?” 

If her tone before ticked him off, this time it makes him see red, especially with the way she tilts her head and appraises him as if he’s her opponent rather than a friend. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Means I’m not stupid and I know you’re pushing so hard because you’re worried about how Arya will react when she finds out that you knew all along.” 

She’s not wrong, not at all. He’s thought about the very same thing on more than one occasion. But it’s not why he feels a surge of anger bubble up at the redhead for the first time in probably years. 

“Is that really what you think? That I’m only doing this to further my own agenda? Not because of anything else, like say the fact that my goddaughter will likely be born without –“ 

But Sansa doesn’t let him continue.

“Don’t.” She says so incredibly sternly, Gendry can’t help but listen.

Her eyes no longer hold their icy hue, somehow turning fiery instead, almost feral, reminding him of why the House Stark sigil is a wolf. There’s no other way to describe Sansa’s demeanor at this point. 

And while he might be a Baratheon in name, he’s still very much a bull and bulls, unlike stags, don’t have as much to fear from wolves. 

“Why not? This is about her after all, isn’t it? It’s a matter –“ 

“It’s a _family_ matter, actually and you’re not –“ 

He sees the flash of regret instantly, but it’s nothing compares to the cut he feels deep in his bones.

The urge to argue, to keep trying to prove his point is replaced quickly by a hurt that Gendry didn’t expect as his mind finishes the sentence. 

“Gendry, I didn’t mean –“ 

She tries to reach for him but he holds up his hand.

“Whether you meant it or not, you said it, and you’re right. I’m not family but I’m not going to apologize for caring and I’m sure as hells not going to apologize for wanting you to be honest with your sister. I just sincerely hope that whatever you decide to do doesn’t explode in your face, because the way I see it, the longer you and Jon keep this a secret, the bigger the shitstorm in the end.” 

He isn’t sure what he expects Sansa to say or how he expects her to act but the defeat that quickly filters into her expression as she guiltily stares at the floor doesn’t make Gendry feel much better.

He knows she didn’t mean it. Knows that she considers him as much a part of her family as her blood siblings, but it doesn’t erase the sting of her words and his pride won’t let him ignore it. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” He says curtly, even though he knows it isn’t and judging by Sansa’s guilt-ridden look, she knows it too. 

It’s no use pushing anymore, but the words still spill out of him when he pauses in the doorway. 

“Just tell her the truth, Sansa. Before it’s too late.” 

And then he turns around and walks out of the room, trying not to feel his own guilt for leaving her alone and teary-eyed. 

xxx

He’s still fuming by the time he reaches the attic. It’s only when he spots Arya sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by boxes filled to the brim with photo albums that Gendry is able to put aside at least some of his anger. 

He takes a steadying breath to reel himself in and knocks on the wood frame to get her attention. 

When she looks up to greet him, gray eyes somehow even more vibrant against the backdrop of natural light, he’s suddenly reminded of the way she’d looked at him right after he’d asked her out on a date. 

She’d looked beautiful then, and she looks beautiful now, fresh faced and smiling. Just like that night, Gendry thinks about how badly he wants to lean down and kiss her. 

The thought distracts him long enough for Arya to sit up on her knees and shove a photo in his face. 

“Hey, look at this.” 

He moves closer, giving the photo a quick onceover. He’s never seen it before but he knows all three men in the picture. Especially the one who stares back at him with the same shade of eyes he sees every time he looks in the mirror. 

“That’s our dads during their exchange year at Harrenhal University. I think with their friend, Rhaegar from KLU. if I remember correctly.” 

Gendry knows with certainty that Arya is right, having heard the story of how these men were thick as thieves during the year they studied political science together, but he doesn’t say anything, and she takes it as a cue to keep talking to him.

“Mom had transferred to Winterfell U at that point. She was already pregnant with Robb.” 

Arya takes the photo back and flips it over to look at the date on the bottom.

“Yup, the year looks to be right.” She stares at the photo for a bit longer.

“Can’t even imagine how she must’ve felt when dad showed up with baby Jon in tow.” 

Her expression shifts then, a melancholy washing over her not unlike the one Gendry had seen on Sansa’s face earlier. He has the sudden urge to make it go away. 

“Well,” he starts before taking a seat besides her on the floor, “I, for one, am glad they worked it out, because otherwise you wouldn’t exist.” 

It’s quite possibly the cheesiest thing he’s ever said to her and Arya seems to agree, elbowing him in his side and rolling her eyes. 

“Charmer.” She says as she puts the photo down, but there’s still a pleasant flush to her cheeks that belies exactly how pleased she is with his comment. 

Briefly, Gendry wonders if she’d had the same pink tint to her skin that night in her bathtub, but he shoves it aside, before he has to explain why he’s suddenly got a hard on.

Luckily, Arya doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to his internal struggle. She picks up another photo, this time of just their fathers, arms wrapped around each other and grinning. 

They look young. Younger than Gendry is now. Something tugs at his chest, a feeling he’s associated in one way or another with regret; wondering if things might have turned out differently had the accident never happened. 

“I knew it.” 

Arya once again snaps him out of his reverie. 

“Knew what?” 

She puts the photo away before peering at him with a familiar glint in her eye. 

“A comparison between you and Robert is just unfair. Not when you’re as hot as you are.” 

And then it’s his turn to blush and hers to look a little more self-satisfied. 

It’s then that Gendry realizes how close they are. Close enough for him to spot the flecks of light gray in her irises and the appealing tilt of her mouth. He knows the longer they stay like this, looking at each other, the more likely he is to kiss her. 

And he doubts he’d be able to stop. Not when all he’s been able to think about in the last few days are the sounds she made as she worked herself over in her tub. 

Albeit very reluctantly. 

“Any particular reason you’re going down memory lane?” 

“Looking for baby pictures of Sansa for the shower. I thought it would be nice to put them into an album that she can add to with pictures of baby Stark.” 

“That’s a great thought. My mom kept one when I was a kid and I’ve had it with me ever since.” 

“Yeah.”

Arya looks up at him, hair spilling out of her ponytail and the sun falling across her face. 

And the smile drops from his lips because he knows what that feeling in his chest is – the feeling sliding across his entire body, leaving him weightless and unfocused but also clear as day. 

He’s felt it before, in this very room, looking at the same woman, just in a different time. He won’t put a label on it. He can’t. Not yet.

But soon, he thinks, feeling a sense of hopefulness that he hadn’t even known was missing before. 

“Need help sorting through more photos? And possibly cleaning up?” 

Arya looks around her like she’s seeing the mess she made for the first time and then she’s laughing and nodding.

“Sure, yeah. I could use your muscle if you’re offering.”

“My muscles are at your disposal.” 

Arya snorts but doesn’t hesitate in shoving two albums in his direction and then giving him instructions on what kind of photos she wants.

He accepts them happily, knowing he’d leaf through a thousand of these if it meant spending more time with her.

xxx

_The stairs creak with every step he takes, the sound getting louder and louder; leaving Gendry to wonder whether he’ll even make it to the top._

_He’s never been to the attic in the Stark Manor before, not during any of his brief visits to Winterfell years ago nor in the last month he’s been living here. _

_And though he had little expectations of the space, it’s still jarring when he reaches the top and all he sees are boxes. _

_The ceiling is slanted and the one small window on the opposite wall is half obscured by stacks of them, leaving the tiny room submerged in shadows that belie the early hour of the day. _

_If it weren’t for the single lamp that casts a faint glow on the center of the room, Gendry would think he was alone. But that, paired with the occasional shuffling sounds, tells him otherwise. _

_Arya sits on the floor, hunched over a stack of photographs. She’d cut her hair the second she’d arrived from Harrenhal, taking scissors to it so it fell in choppy, uneven waves. It still obscures her face though but Gendry doesn’t need to see it to know how grief stricken she is. It seems to roll off of her in waves. Much like with the rest of them. _

_It’s been a little over three weeks since he picked her up from the train station. Two since the funeral. _

_In all that time, she has barely left Bran’s side in the hospital, but today at his and Sansa’s insistence, Arya had stayed behind while Jon and Theon went to keep the youngest Stark company. _

_She hadn’t been too pleased with them but ultimately acquiesced and disappeared upstairs. _

_Gendry had intended to leave her alone for a bit, occupying himself with meaningless tasks around the house. Eventually he grew restless and decided to seek her out. See if maybe she wanted to take a walk or have some lunch or do anything to pull her out of the monotony of the day that seemed to shroud all of them since the funeral. _

_Looking at her now, head bent in concentration as she stares at the photo in her hand, Gendry almost doesn’t want to disturb her. But his rampant desire to make sure she’s okay – one that has only amplified in the weeks they’ve coexisted here – won’t let him leave. _

_He raps his knuckles on the door to get her attention. _

_“Hey.”_

_“Oh hi,” Arya looks up, pushing her hair unsuccessfully from her face, before returning to the photos in her lap. _

_“What are you looking at?” _

_“Just some old photos.”_

_ She replies quietly, much too quietly for her usual vibrant self, and Gendry once again feels that familiar pull on his heart, prompting him to get even closer. As if his proximity will somehow be able to shield her from the grief and loss that seems to permeate every corner of this place. _

_“Mind if I sit?” _

_She lightly shakes her head no. _

_Despite her lack of enthusiasm, Gendry doesn’t think twice before dropping to his haunches and settling next to her._

_She radiates warmth in an otherwise chilly room, and he picks up the scent of what can only be described as winter – mint and pine and freshness – that seems to only emanate whenever Arya is around. _

_He longs to get even closer, to brush shoulders with her, or tuck her messy locks behind her ear, but he remains perfectly still. Somehow certain that neither of those gestures will be welcomed. _

_He’d think himself a fool, not only because it’s late spring and nowhere close to winter, but also because he has no business thinking this way about one of his oldest friends…and yet. _

_Ever since she’d slid into his car and he wrapped her in a hug, silently promising to look after her as best he can in the wake of such a tragedy, Gendry hasn’t been able to stop his mind from spinning every time she’s near. And because he doesn’t trust himself to not say something stupid to her, he focuses instead on making himself comfortable in the tight space._

_Arya must notice his fidgeting because a second later, she scoots over to make room for him, dropping the photo she was holding onto the pile in front of her._

_It catches his attention. _

_He’s seen a few photos of Arya as a kid. A couple strewn across Ned’s office back in King’s Landing, some on Sansa’s social media, but in none of them was she this small or smiling this widely. Nor was she ever hugging a massive dog, who looks surprisingly docile despite the fierceness of Arya’s small arms wrapped around its furry neck. _

_He fingers the edge of the photograph, admiring the look of pure elation on little Arya's face. _

_“That’s Nymeria. Dad brought her home when she was just a pup. She ran away a couple weeks after we left for King’s Landing. Mom and Robb said they put up flyers and even went to the local police, but they never had any luck.” _

_Gendry remembers Arya mentioning she’d had a dog back in Winterfell but they’d never really talked about it, and now he understands why. It’s probably not something she wanted to revisit. _

_“I thought I saw her once actually.” Arya continues when he doesn’t say anything, and he turns to find her looking at another photograph, this time of Ned and her, flanking Nymeria from both sides. _

_“Where?” Gendry asks quietly, not wanting to disturb her too much but still curious to know. _

_“The Riverlands. There was this park I used to walk through sometimes. One morning, I felt like someone was watching me, and I could have sworn it was Nym, but I didn’t see anything, so I figured my mind was playing tricks on me.” _

_“Could have been her, you never know.” His own words don’t sound too convincing but he wants to offer whatever little comfort he can. Anything to drain the melancholy from her tone. _

_“Nah, it was likely a stray dog or something, but it’s nice to think that it was Nymeria, watching out for me. Made me feel like I wasn’t alone.” _

_It’s the most vulnerable and honest Arya has been since they reunited and his hands practically itch to reach out and pull her into a hug. But there’s an even bigger drive to learn more about her time away. She’s finally given him an in and he decides to take it. _

_“I didn’t ask this before,” he starts and then stops, because there’s still a part of him that fears he’s overstepping, “but what did you do in the Riverlands? To get by I mean?” _

_If Arya is surprised by his question, she gives no indication and actually abandons the pile of photos entirely to train her tired eyes on him. _

_“For the first few weeks, I stayed in a shelter. Once my money ran out, I looked for a job and found one at a small Bed & Breakfast. They were looking for a dishwasher so I worked in the kitchens, with a boy named Hot Pie. An orphan who’d been taken in by the owner.” _

_“Hot Pie?” _

_“Don’t ask.” Arya says with a wistful smile, and Gendry can’t help but think about how much she’s grown in the two years she’s been gone. _

_That day at the train station, he’d already noticed all the ways she had changed during the time they’d spent apart, but in this moment, it feels like more than that. _

_There is a certain wisdom about her that only amplifies her allure, and the flicker of nostalgia in her eye only draws out her inner beauty, leaving him nearly lightheaded beneath her gaze. _

_“Well, hopefully being home won’t be too bad.” He finally says after realizing he’s been staring in silence for far too long, wishing he could offer her more than empty platitudes. _

_But as always, Arya surprises him. _

_“No, it hasn’t been bad.” she says with a lot more firmness than he expected, “despite the circumstances, it’s better than I imagined. I just wish-“_

_“What?”_

_Arya looks away then, gaze trained on some indeterminate point on the wall next to her as she rests her chin on her knees, tucking herself away like she wants to disappear entirely. _

_“That I hadn’t caused my mom so much grief. That maybe I was a better daughter, I-“_

_Her voice sounds so small, so defeated, it hits Gendry like a punch to the gut._

_“Arya, you can’t think like that. She wouldn’t have wanted you to, I know that much.” _

_In an instant, her stormy gray eyes are back on him again – a fire lit unseen behind them as her voice rises an octave. _

_“How do you know? She was always frustrated with me. I wasn’t Sansa. I wasn’t who she expected, and she seemed so disapproving of me. She thought I was irresponsible and immature and I proved her right by running away the second things got tough. The second dad - “_

_She pauses but Gendry doesn’t interrupt, somehow knowing that she’s not finished yet. _

_“I just can’t help but think that she died being disappointed in me.” _

_“I don’t think so.”_

_“How can you be so sure?” _

_And he understands why she’s asking. Why nothing seems as certain as it had been just a month ago – when her mother was still here, and her brothers were all alive and well, and not gone or in Bran’s case, at the risk of being confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. _

_But through it all, one single fact stands out to him and he won’t hold it back from her. _

_“You’re here now, aren’t you? You came back when your family needed you.”_

_“I should have been here two years ago.”_

_“You were just a kid.” _

_And it’s startling realization that even at 16, she’s no longer a kid. None of them are. Not even 14-year-old Bran, who has a long road of recovery ahead of him. _

_“Guess we’re not kids anymore.” _

_Arya verbalizes his thoughts with so much regret in her voice that Gendry can no longer hold himself back. He swallows what little uncertainty he has left and moves to wrap his arm around her. _

_It’s something new for them, this physical closeness, and he’s completely certain Arya’s going to push him off but she doesn’t._

_“No, we’re not. But we’ll be okay. We’ll figure all of this out. You, me, Sansa, Jon, Bran, even Theon.” _

_Arya looks up at him then, and though there’s still sadness lurking in her eyes, a tentative smile stretches her lips. _

_“Yea, we will, because we’re family. We’re pack.” _

_Gendry fights the deepest urge to lean down and kiss her forehead._

_Instead, he squeezes her closer and returns her smile as best he can. _

_“Damn right, we are.”_

_Arya doesn’t say anything but the way she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder gives Gendry the smallest of hopes that what he's saying isn't completely untrue._

xxx 

He’s barely made it inside the house when he feels the familiar vibration against his hip, signaling an incoming phone call or text. 

Seeing the name on the screen already has Gendry smiling before he even answers it. 

“Hello.” 

“Why are you breathing so hard?”

He can’t help but laugh – his younger sister is nothing if not direct. 

“Just got back from a run, and hello to you too, Bella.” 

“Oh, so you haven’t frozen your balls off yet? Shame.” 

He wipes sweat from his forehead before replying.

“Your concern for my anatomy is awe-inspiring, truly. Thank you though, everything’s intact.” 

There’s a rustle and a sound akin to a chuckle, which only serves to add to Gendry’s amusement. 

It might be the endorphins from his exercise, but he’s pretty certain the lightness he feels could at least partially be attributed to hearing from his sister for the first time in weeks. He’d forgotten how much he’s missed her. 

“Don’t worry, the inquiry was entirely selfless. Just want to ensure my boys gets their uncle back in one piece. They haven’t stopped asking about you since Christmas.” 

The mention of his nephews only makes Gendry’s chest swell that much more. He remembers the photos Bella sent of the boys with their presents – their big toothy smiles in varying levels of intensity as they huddled together around the mountain of toys and gadgets he’d gotten them. 

It must have taken Bella ages to wrangle all three of them for a photo and Gendry finds himself filling with unexpected gratitude. Given his conversation with Sansa the day before, it feels like divine intervention that Bella has called him today of all days.

“I guess you really can buy affection, huh?” 

“You sure can.” Bella confirms with a humor that’s easy to pick up on even over the phone. 

“But they’re more so interested in you rather than your presents. Amb in particular keeps asking me if you’ll be back in time to run drills with him for football practice. He said, and I quote ‘no one’s as good as Uncle Gen and it’s fun to watch him get all red in the face and indignant when the ref makes a wrong call’.” 

Gendry nearly chokes on the water he’s guzzling down. 

“I do not get red in the face,” he exclaims, defending himself.

It’s clear from Bella’s chuckles that she doesn’t believe him either. 

“And since when does your nine year old son use words like ‘indignant’?” 

“I don’t know,” – and he can easily picture his sister shrug – “he reads a lot.” 

That, Bella is not wrong about. 

As much as his oldest nephew loves sports, Gendry’s earliest memories of Ambrose are of the dark haired boy with his nose in a book. The image only serves to articulate what he doesn’t mind admitting to his sister, of all people. 

“Man, I miss you guys.” 

Bella doesn’t say anything at first but her uncontained sigh says it all. 

“We miss you too.” 

Gendry feels an weight settling in his stomach when he considers what Bella might ask him next, so he speaks first.

“How are Myles and Olly? Doing alright?” 

“Yeah, they’re good. Myles has a tutor now, which has helped bring up his grades, and Olly is Olly. Demanding as always but way too cute for me to deny him anything.” 

“And the nanny you have is working out?” 

It’d been a sore subject for them when Gendry decided to come up to Winterfell the year before. Olly had barely been a year old, and while Bella had insisted that she didn’t need help, Gendry knew that with his absence, she’d need the extra hand. Bella has always been independent, and he respects that, but with three boys under the age of 9, even his sister – the Superwoman that she is – couldn’t deny needing the extra help. 

“Yeah, she’s alright but-“ 

And there it is, that uncomfortable knot tightening again as he hears the hesitation in her voice. He almost doesn’t want to push but he also doesn’t want this tension, not with Bella at least. 

“But what?” 

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. The nanny is fine and all, and I appreciate you taking care of that for me, but it’s not the same without you.”

“I know it’s not the same, Bella, but –“

And then it’s her turn to cut him off. 

“But what, Gendry? You said it’d be six months at most and we’re coming up on a year now. I miss you, the boys miss you, everyone down here misses you. I get that the holidays are tough for you so I didn’t expect you home then, but it feels like you dropped off the face of the earth and I’m personally tired of fielding questions about when you’ll be back.”

“It’s not that simple, Bella.”

“It’s a bloody reno, Gendry, what’s so complicated about that? I’ve seen you flip three houses in the time it’s taken to supposedly return the Stark Manor to its previous excellence, and you have a crew of what? Four guys to help you?”

“It’s not just about the house. Sansa is pregnant and she’s – “

“And what? She’s alone? The baby daddy’s not in the picture? C’mon Gen, do you remember who you’re talking to?” 

He really shouldn’t say it. He knows very, very well what Bella’s real issue is with the Starks. Knows why he hasn’t been completely forthcoming with her about everything that’s happened in the last few months. 

But there’s something to be said for blood relation and there’s truly nobody in his world who can rile him up quite like his younger sister – the same Baratheon fury coursing through her veins as in his, so the words spill out before he can stop them. 

“Well, not everyone is you, Bella. And for the record, Sansa’s not alone. Arya is back ho-“

He doesn’t even finish the sentence before he hears her scoff loud and clear, and his hand tightens almost involuntarily around the phone. 

“Oh, say no more. I get it.” 

“Get what?” he asks through gritted teeth, tension now coiling all his muscles. 

“You really have to ask me that? I’d rather plead the fifth than make any sort of comment about Arya bloody Stark.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’ve been holding back so far. C’mon Bella, what were you going to say about _Arya bloody Stark_?” 

He expects to hear a response at least at the same decibel level as his own, if not more. When he encounters nothing but silence and the sound of measured breathing on the other end of the line, he’s confronted with just how defensive he came off. 

“I’ve got nothing to say that you don’t already know, Gendry.” 

The firmness in her tone makes it hard to believe that this is the same woman who was ribbing him just five minutes ago, and whatever high he’d amassed from both his run and his plans with Arya for the day disappear completely as he sags against the counter. 

He could lie, he could evade, and pretend he doesn’t know why Bella has gone stone cold, but that’s not the nature of their relationship. 

No, their friendship, their kinship is one that Gendry can confidently say has always been built on trust and honesty. It doesn’t seem fair to be anything other than truthful.

“It’s not how it was back then, Bella. It’s different now. I’m different, Arya is too. We’re not teenagers anymore.” 

“No, you’re not, and there’s a lot more at stake now than there was then.” 

“Don’t you think I know that?” 

“I do. I do believe you know that but when it comes to Arya –“

Her pause only serves to aggravate Gendry further. She’d had no problem giving her opinion before and now she’s hesitating? 

“What?”

“You’re really going to make me say it?” 

“Yes, Bella, I am. I want to understand what your problem is with Arya. Why even the mere mention of her name sets you off so much.” 

“Seriously? Maybe because even when you were bloody teenagers, she nearly broke you in half. It took you years to get back to some semblance of normal and I had to watch you go through that and you’re really going to ask me why the mere mention of the prodigal fucking daughter ticks me off? I can’t fucking believe you.” 

“Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I get that you want me to be careful, but it’s my life and I’m sick of everyone telling me that I have to watch myself. I’m not a bloody porcelain doll and Arya’s not some monster, and our relationship or whatever this is, is none of anyone’s business, okay?” 

“Oh, so I’m not the only one who told you to be careful. Let me guess, did Sansa say the same thing? About her own sister? Maybe if you won’t listen to me, you’ll listen to-” 

“That’s enough, Bella.”

Gendry doesn’t remember ever being so stern with her but he feels validated in cutting her off. 

“Whatever Sansa’s reservations were, she’s gotten over them and I suggest you do too.” 

“Or what?” 

Bella's words genuinely stump him. 

He’s been so wrapped up in whatever it is he and Arya are exploring, that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that he’d have to talk to his sister about it, and yet, it makes sense.

Just as much sense as Sansa being wary of him letting Arya in eventually. Bella has the same reasons to be cautious, and probably even more so, because she’d seen the lasting effects of their break-up and watched him deal with it not for months like Sansa did, but _years_. 

Years of trying – and failing – to connect with other women. Years of avoiding any sort of trigger like a bar or a party for fear that he’d snap and go on a bender again. 

Years of therapy to unpack how Arya’s unexpected departure had just been one occurrence in a string of many that resulted in people leaving him. 

But Bella never left. 

She’d stuck around, had seen him through it all, and so she has all the reason to doubt that things are different this time. Yet a part of him refuses to accept it, refuses to believe that after everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, history will repeat itself. 

Even if all he has to go on are his feelings. 

“I don’t want to fight with you, Bella.” 

“I don’t either, Gen. I just, I want you to be okay, you know?” 

“I do, and I appreciate it, but I'm okay. I am more than okay, actually.” 

There’s just a bead of silence then, lighter than before but still ever present, and Gendry has to wonder if she believes him or not. At the moment, he’s not sure if he would believe himself. 

“Well, that’s good, I guess. As long as you are.” 

And he knows what she’s not saying, knows that she’s not convinced but after his conversation with Sansa, he’s more grateful than anything that his sister knows when to stop pushing. 

He’s about to tell her as much, thank her for at least trying to be understanding, but there’s a rustling on the other end and then – 

“Sorry, Olly’s up from his nap and the nanny’s off today, so I got to run.”

He shouldn’t be as relieved as he is, and it makes him feel even worse somehow. 

“Alright, give him an extra hug from his Uncle Gendry, and tell Myles and Amb I’ll see them soon, okay?” 

“I will. Bye, Gendry.” 

“Bye.” 

The line goes dead and Gendry finds himself staring at the phone until the screen lights up again, signaling a text message.

He sees Arya’s name displayed along with a message would normally send his heart soaring – _if you plan to blindfold me on our way to wherever we’re going, I request fair warning._

Right now, it only makes him realize that he'll be late in picking her up if he doesn't hit the shower. 

He sets his phone on the counter, takes another long pull from his water bottle, and heads to the bathroom, leaving the message unanswered. 

xxx 

For the second time in as many days, the sight of Arya manages to alleviate Gendry’s moodiness just a bit. 

As he watches her make her way towards him, his hands ease off the death grip he’d had on the steering wheel for most of the drive over.

A rush of cold accompanies her sliding into the truck, but with it comes a hit of freshness and that little something extra that sparks a burst of warmth low in his belly. 

Especially when Arya leans over the stick shift and greets him with a spirited, “hi.” 

Her excitement is almost infectious, eyes sparkling as she eagerly fastens the seatbelt and Gendry feels himself lift almost entirely out of the dour pit he’s been submerged in. 

“Ready to go?” 

He returns her smile but it’s clearly not as convincing as hers, given how quickly Arya narrows her eyes at him. 

It seems the years haven’t lessened her ability to see passed whatever feeble attempts he’s made to hide his broodiness. 

Instead of calling him out on it, she simply nods and turns to look ahead. Gendry’s not sure if it makes him feel worse or better that she may feel like it’s no longer her place to push answers out of him. 

It does make him want to redouble his efforts to make sure she has a good time this afternoon and by the time, they’ve made it out onto the main road, they slip into easy conversation. 

It’s mostly him asking her questions about her day, about the baby shower, about the photo album she’s working on for Sansa. Anything to keep thoughts of his conversation with Bella at bay. 

He’s not sure if he totally succeeds, but every opportunity he has to look at Arya, he takes. 

The sight of her animated expression – the curve of her mouth as she talks, her elegant fingers as she gesticulates – all of it just puts him at ease, a sense of rightness washing over him each time their eyes meet. 

Gendry holds onto this feeling, this distraction, keeping just enough of his concentration on the road to ensure he doesn’t drive them into a ditch by accident. 

They lapse into a comfortable silence as Gendry takes a turn off the main road and slows the truck to a crawl. Arya stares mostly out the window the closer they get to their destination, and Gendry swears he hears a sharp intake of breath when the road they’re on widens into a clearing, revealing a massive property that appears like a mirage this deep in the woods.

The single black building – which looks like a converted farmhouse – stands in the middle of what is at least five acres of land. A sturdy looking wooden fence runs alongside it, stretching on for about a quarter of a mile in each direction and disappearing back into trees lining the property. 

When they pass the main sign, which separates the road from the small parking lot in front of the building, Arya whips her head to look at him, gray eyes wide with wonder and lips parted.

“Gendry, is this what I think it is?” 

The softness of her voice fills him with an entirely different kind of worry. 

He doesn’t say anything until he’s eased the truck into a suitable spot and cut the engine. 

In all his careful planning, he hadn’t actually thought this part through. 

He knew where he wanted to take her the second he found her sifting through old photos in the attic but having to actually explain why makes him uneasy. Afraid that he might be putting too much emphasis on this first date by bringing to mind something so deeply personal and so entrenched in their past. 

It makes him seriously consider that Bella might have been right. As different as he and Arya are now, they’ll never have a fresh start, and it’s never more apparent to him than now, as Arya looks at him expectantly.

And yet there’s nothing in her expression that would suggest fear or apprehension. She looks more open and earnest than he’s ever seen her, and that ultimately gives him the courage he needs. 

“Remember a few days ago when I found you in the attic?” 

“Yeah,” she nods quickly, like she wants him to get to the point. It’s so characteristically her, Gendry feels a borderline overwhelming surge of affection.

“It reminded me of the time you told me about Nymeria, and how you thought you had seen her in the Riverlands once.” 

Recognition passes across Arya’s face but she doesn’t say anything. 

“You said how just knowing she was out there made you feel safer, made you feel like someone was watching out for you when you were out there on your own.” 

“It did, yeah.” Arya confirms with a certain fondness in her tone. As if she’s only now fully remembering the comfort her childhood pet had provided. 

“I’ve known about this place for a while. It’s the only wildlife refuge for wolves within a hundred miles of here, and they do a pretty good job of letting them roam free instead of keeping them confined. They only open it up to the public a few days out of the month, and I thought it would be something fun for us to do together. Especially since Nymeria was half-wolf and she meant so much to you.”

It’s probably the most amount of words he’s spoken to anyone in a long time, but the way Arya looks at him – gray eyes filled to the brim with affection and gratitude – makes it all worth it.

He’s so relieved, he almost doesn’t notice when her expression changes into one of eager anticipation as she unsnaps her seatbelt and opens the passenger door. 

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s go.” 

He follows suit, pulling the keys out of the ignition and exiting the truck as well. 

It’s not until they’re halfway to the front entrance that Arya unexpectedly loops her hand around his bicep and mutters a thank you into his shoulder. 

Gendry resists the urge to drop a kiss on her forehead as he glances down at her. 

“Don’t thank me yet. Might turn out to be shit.”

“I doubt it.”

The certainty in her tone eases whatever traces of worry he might have. Not just about the date but about everything else too.

xxx 

“Arya? Arya Stark?” 

Gendry’s checking them in at the front desk when he looks up to find a someone eerily familiar approaching them with a huge smile on his face. 

He tries to remember where he knows the man from when Arya suddenly abandons the visitors’ brochure she was flipping through and practically jumps into his arms.

“Harwin, is that you? Oh my Gods, what are you doing here?” 

The name jogs Gendry’s memory, and as their eyes lock over the top of Arya’s head, Gendry realizes he’d seen the man last at Catelyn, Robb and Rickon’s funeral. The revelation leaves a bad taste in his mouth for some reason. 

“I volunteer here a couple times a month. What about you? I had no idea you were back in town.” 

“It’s only been a few months.” 

Arya still hasn’t turned around but Gendry can easily detect the sheepishness in her tone. It makes him feel like he’s intruding, so he turns back to what he was doing.

He’s in the midst of handing the receptionist his photo ID as she requested, when Arya addresses him. 

“Harwin, you remember Gendry? Gendry, Harwin used to work for my dad back in the day.”

“Oh yea, you’re Robert’s boy, right?” 

Normally, the reference to his father wouldn’t bother him so much. But be it his fluctuating mood, or just the unexpected reappearance from their past, Gendry has a harder time concealing his scowl as he returns Harwin's handshake.

“I am yeah. Nice to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Harwin responds, and a slightly awkward silence falls on the group. 

Arya looks like she’s about to speak, a raised eyebrow thrown in Gendry’s direction, but luckily, the receptionist interjects.

“You’re all set for the 2:30 tour,” she addresses Gendry while handing back his ID, “and it looks like you know your guide already so he’ll take it from here.” 

She throws a smile towards Harwin, who returns it and then turns his gaze to Arya and Gendry, clasping his hands together.

“Shall we then?” 

“You’re our guide?” Arya asks, and Gendry instantly wishes he shared in her excitement. 

Instead, a knot of discomfort forms somewhere beneath his ribs. He’d known they wouldn’t be alone for their tour, but somehow having someone who knows them from before, seems like a cruel twist of fate. 

Harwin motions them to follow him; and since there’s really nothing Gendry can do at this point, he schools his expression as best he can and trails behind Arya, taking comfort in the smile she shoots him over her shoulder. 

xxx 

They follow Harwin down a snowy path that winds behind the property, leading them further into the woods. 

It’s flanked on both sides by a nearly invisible wire fence, giving off the feel that they’re truly out in the wild. 

Although the path is narrow, Arya chooses to walk right next to Gendry. 

A few times, he has to pull her to his side so neither of them slips into the snowbanks lining the walkway. 

Arya doesn’t seem opposed to it, shooting him sly glances that suggests she knows exactly what he’s doing each time his arm circles her waist.

He tries not to get carried away with their silent flirting, but it’s not easy to do. 

Especially when she stays close even when there’s space to walk again. Even through the many layers of clothing, the distinct press of her body leaves him feeling just a tad too warm for the weather. But also strangely at peace. 

All of it makes Gendry wish they were alone so he could draw as much comfort from her as possible.

Except they’re not alone and he is rudely reminded of this when Harwin unexpectedly turns around to check on them and glances down at their joint hands. 

Gendry levels a gaze at the older man, silently daring him to say something. Harwin seems to take the hint, picking up the pace to give them some privacy. 

He continues to rattle off bits of information about the refuge, about how many wolves they have on the property, what their typical routine is, and how they work to keep them as untethered as possible. 

Gendry does his best to listen, but the further they walk, the more difficult it becomes to pay attention.

It’s starting to feel more and more like a real date. A date with Arya to be precise. The quiet interplay between them that doesn’t require any talking really; the flirtatious smiles they exchange every once in a while; the way Arya’s eyes sparkle with amusement when Harwin says something particularly funny.

It’s all exactly as Gendry had envisioned when he decided to take her here and when they stop at a large clearing, he turns to Harwin. 

“What’re the chances of us seeing a wolf today?” 

The other man looks around for a moment. 

“It’s unpredictable really, but there a few sociable ones that come out here and there.” 

He pauses then to point at something through the wired fence. 

“See those prints over there? Means they’ve been around here sometime since last night’s snowfall, so we might get lucky.” 

Arya steps closer to the edge of the path to check out the paw prints, and Gendry can’t help the smile at her enthusiasm, especially when she tugs him alongside her. 

Harwin seems to be just as taken with her almost childlike wonder and checks his watch before addressing them again. 

“I tell ya what, since I know you can handle yourself out here, I’ll give you guys some time. I need to check on a portion of the fence just up there. I’ll be back in 30.” 

Arya tears her eyes away from the prints to grace the man with a grateful smile. 

“Thanks, Harwin.” 

“No problem, kid. We’re practically family.” 

He hands Arya a pair of binoculars as he passes by and nods in Gendry’s direction before taking a sharp turn on the path and disappearing between some trees. 

Whatever irritation Gendry might have felt towards the man disappears completely when he gazes at Arya again. 

She’s standing as close to the fence as possible, gloved fingers curved into the wire as she stares ahead with determination; as if she wants to will the wolves into existence. 

Without thinking about it, Gendry steps behind her, both to get a closer look and because he desperately wants to be closer to her. 

Sensing his presence, Arya throws him a warm smile over her shoulder. Feeling emboldened, Gendry drops a hand to her hip. 

He doesn’t expect her to lean back but when she does, he takes it as an invitation to loop both his arms around her middle, pulling her flush against him.

One of her hands comes to rest on top of his and although they’re both wearing gloves, that electric pull between them is ever present. It fills his chest up like a balloon, eclipsing any doubt or fear about any of this, about being with her.

Nothing that feels this good, he reasons, can be bad for him. 

As uncomfortable as it is for him given their height difference, Gendry can’t resist dropping his chin to her shoulder.

“So on a scale of 0 to 10, how did I do?” 

Arya tilts her head to the side, just enough to catch his gaze. Her soft cheek brushing against his scruffed jaw sends a bolt of anticipation straight through him. 

“Are you really asking me to rate our date so far?” 

“I’m all about positive reinforcement.” 

“Oh, are you?”

She turns to him fully then. From the way her eyes drop immediately to his lips, Gendry has a pretty good sense of the type of reinforcement she’s about to give him. 

He’s about to lean in when something darts across the snowy plains, catching his attention. 

“Arya, look!”

He pivots her around to face the fence just as two large wolves emerge onto the edge of the clearing. 

Although Gendry can’t really make out much other than their size and the dark gray of their coats, Arya’s gasp as she gazes through the binoculars is more than enough for him. 

“They’re beautiful,” she says under her breath, as if she’s talking mostly to herself.

Gendry doesn’t say anything, somehow afraid that anything that comes out of his mouth will ruin this absolutely perfect moment. 

He tries to pay attention to the creatures now hanging out in clear view, aware somewhere in the periphery of his mind that this doesn’t happen often but when Arya finally tears her eyes away and offers him the binoculars for a closer look, Gendry finds himself too dumbstruck to even take them. 

The best view is inarguably right in front of him. 

xxx 

The temperature drops some during the time they stayed out. When Harwin comes back for them, the wind is damn near biting. 

The man still takes his time escorting them off the trail, and Gendry’s absolutely fine with it. 

It gives him an opportunity to admire Arya’s windblown cheeks, her shining eyes, and the way she seems imbued with more energy and pep than he’d seen in a long time.

She walks a little ahead, side by side with Harwin, enthusiastically describing the wolves they saw and asking a myriad of follow up questions. 

Gendry’s so smitten by it all, so utterly distracted, he almost doesn’t notice when their conversation takes a more personal turn.

At some point, Harwin must have asked Arya about the rest of the Starks, because he’s suddenly talking about Jon and Gendry can’t help but eavesdrop.

“Oh how’s he doing up North then? I saw him in town last year –“ 

“Jon?” 

“Yeah, ran into him and Sansa towards the end of summer, I think. He’d been getting ready to go up past the wall again. Help those Wildlings who refuse to come South. I tell ya, your brother does good work up there.”

“He does.” 

Arya gets quiet, and Gendry can almost see the wheels in her brain turning.

She doesn’t have much time to contemplate though as Harwin asks yet another question. This one drops like a 10-pound weight onto Gendry’s chest. 

“What about you? What have you been up to? Last I heard, you were in Essos, working some sort of humanitarian gig?” 

Gendry knows that’s Arya’s cover story, she’d explained it before. That’s not what fills him with apprehension. 

No, instead, Harwin’s inquiry again triggers the memory of an awkward phone call in his living room. This time, specifically the mention of a job offer that sent his mind reeling. One that forced him to put distance between him and Arya that day. 

One that causes all the anger and frustration that he’d worked so hard to shove down to flare up again as his sister’s words echo in his brain. 

Arya’s noncommittal shrug in response to Harwin doesn’t do much to assuage Gendry’s fears. If anything, it strips the veneer off, forcing him to confront yet again the sheer uncertainty of their situation. 

By the time they reach the building’s main lobby, he’s right back where he was before. 

He shoves his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists but based on the surreptitious glances Arya throws his way as she and Harwin say their goodbyes, Gendry knows he’s doing a shit job of hiding his rapidly declining mood.

When Harwin turns to him, all Gendry can manage is a muttered thank you and a half-hearted handshake, which the other man accepts with minimal fanfare. He does shoot Arya a look, which only serves to aggravate Gendry more.

He knows the older man did nothing to incite his ire or his rudeness, but he’s still a little bit relieved when Arya and he are finally alone. 

They’ve barely made it to the empty parking lot before Arya stops and looks at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Okay, what is going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh really? So you normally just grunt at people when you say bye to them or is that reserved especially for those you haven’t seen in a while?” 

Although they haven’t seriously argued since she’s been back, there’s a strange sort of familiarity in all of this, like an old dance that Gendry doesn’t need to relearn the steps to.

“Please, that wasn’t anything.” 

Where others would give up though, Arya doesn’t. She never has. 

“No, Gendry, it was rude. Harwin didn’t deserve that.” 

Fuck what that man deserves is the first thing that pops into his head, but he won’t say it. 

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t ask so many questions.” 

Confusion immediately colors Arya’s face, and it’s the first time Gendry notices her defensive stance.

She’s a few feet in front of him, back against his truck. Her arms are firmly looped over her chest as she looks at him knowingly. 

“What? What are you talking about? He was just trying to make conversation.” 

And for some reason, her defense of the man just makes it all that much worse. He can’t fathom how she doesn’t get it. How she doesn’t understand how close they are to history repeating itself.

The thought makes Gendry feel sick to his stomach, but it also ignites a fire under him, and he steps closer as he stares her down. 

“Yeah and you were more than happy to oblige him. Why didn’t you just tell him you’d take the job up North? I’m sure he’d be thrilled to know that you can continue your ‘humanitarian’ work up there.” 

Her eyes flash then, gray irises growing dark and Gendry knows he’s extremely close to crossing the line. If he hasn’t already. 

“Okay, first of all, I’m going to ignore that you just mocked Jon’s job. And second of all, I never said I would take it.” 

“No, you’re right, you didn’t, Arya. That would require you bringing it up at all.” 

“Gendry, what are you –“ 

A flash of something like surprises passes across her face, but he’s too far gone to notice. He takes another step towards her, now close enough that she has to tilt her head up to look at him. 

“Look, you told me you didn’t plan on leaving Winterfell any time soon, and then Jon offers you a job and you don’t even say anything? You were just going to go and – “

“And what, Gendry?” 

At first glance, her expression is pure resolve, a crease between those dark, perfectly arched eyebrows that he can easily picture when he closes his eyes. 

But when he looks at her again, the tension settling between them like a livewire, all Gendry can see is the worry concealed by her façade. 

It hits him somewhere deep in his gut, the words ripping through him as his anger seeps out just a bit. 

“And not say anything to me about it.”

His admission is almost a physical exhale of relief. The thing that’s been lodged in his throat, in his chest, in his gut this entire time, and his fists unfurl ever so much as realization dawns on Arya’s face. 

“So, that’s what this is about then?” she asks almost too quietly, and if Gendry didn’t know any better, he’d think she wasn’t mad at all. The steel in her eyes tells him otherwise.

“You don’t trust me enough to take me at my word that I am not going anywhere?” 

And then Gendry just feels like utter shit.

Somewhere amidst his anger, amidst the frustration he’s felt both from the absolutely fucked conversation he had with Sansa and then with his own sister, he’d forgotten that he’s not the only one carrying baggage. Not the only one with insecurity and fear in all of this. 

He exhales sharply, dragging one gloved hand across his face to give himself a moment. All he can think about is being honest, about just saying exactly what’s on his mind, which isn’t Harwin, or Jon, or the stupid job offer. 

It’s about them and what they are to each other and he just needs to know. He needs some reassurance that he’s not putting his heart out on the line again only to have it crushed. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Arya. It’s just…look, I want to trust you. I do, and I know we’re not the same people we were before and I know that I said I am over what happened back then but – “

“But what –” 

Her tone is soft this time, not adversarial or defensive, and her arms drop to her side. It gives him the courage to ask the question that he wishes he'd asked sooner. 

“But how is it any different now? What’s really changed?”

And Arya could say a million different things that would make him feel like an ass, because he sort of is in this case – putting his insecurities on her when maybe some of his fears are unfounded. 

But as always, she surprises him. 

As always, she’s the brave one, the one who bridges the gap between them just enough to rest her hand on his bicep as she searches his eyes out. 

“I thought losing my parents and my brothers would be the most traumatizing thing I’d ever experience. But then my job showed me that there are worse things than car and boating accidents. People do messed up shit to each other every day. Some of it senseless, some of it for power, some of it out of pure greed. When Sandor died, I didn’t feel like I had anyone to watch my back anymore. I felt exposed, unprotected, until I came home.”

She squeezes his arm but Gendry doesn’t even feel it, too busy hanging on her every word. 

“Until I saw you walk into the kitchen with that ridiculous bruise on your face, and as terrified as I was of seeing you again, I also felt like I could breathe fully for the first time. I couldn’t figure out what had changed, but now I know. You made me feel safe again, Gendry, like I had someone to watch my back. I’d forgotten what it felt like so it took me a while to figure out what changed, but I guess that’s what’s different now.” 

Though he hasn’t said a word, all the air seems to evaporate from his lungs as silence falls on them again. It feels almost like a false start when he does finally open his mouth again. 

“Arya I –“ 

But she’s already one step ahead, filling in the blanks that he’s unable to. 

“The reason I didn’t tell you about the job is because there’s nothing _to_ tell. I might have briefly considered it when Jon first brought it up but I’m not going anywhere. Least of all for a job. Not again, not like this.” 

Relief rushes in like a tidal wave, shoving all the frustration out of him and forcing him to unfurl his fists. 

“I’m sorry, I just –“

But it seems like it’s all Gendry can muster at this point, and when he ventures a glance at Arya’s face again, his heart clenches unexpectedly at the sight of her understanding smile.

It feels like everything he needs and nothing he deserves.

“It’s okay.” 

She is quick to assuage him, but from the way she pulls her lip between her teeth, Gendry knows she’s not finished.

“I know this isn’t easy for you, all of this, but I’m here to stay, Gendry. I really am, and I hope that’s enough.”

She looks so unsure all of a sudden, he reaches for her before he can stop himself, pulling her close enough to pick up on the floral scent of her shampoo. 

She stares at him with wide expressive eyes, face framed by a halo of dark hair peeking out from beneath her yellow beanie. All Gendry can think about is how fucking beautiful she is and how dumb he is for letting his insecurities get in the middle of something so good, so pure. 

And before he can second guess himself, he cups her face and presses his lips to hers. 

Arya’s sharp take of breath is the only sign that she’s not expecting it but it’s only a moment of indecision, and then she tightens her hold on his bicep and leans into the kiss even more, parting her mouth for him.

There’s an errant thought in the back of Gendry’s head that he wishes he weren’t wearing gloves so he can feel the soft skin of her cheek as he holds her face. But it’s forgotten as soon as he brushes his tongue along her bottom lip and Arya lets out something close to a whimper. The sound seems to reverberate through him, sending his mind into a tailspin and inciting him to walk her backwards until her back collides with his truck. 

The sudden movement seems to jolt them both out of the stupor and Gendry reluctantly pulls back to find Arya staring up at him, breath coming out in large spurts, pupils blown wide with desire that he’s certain is a reflection of his own.

And as much as he wants to continue this, wants to pull her inside the truck and kiss her until she forgets her own name, he knows he owes her more than that.

“You are more than enough, Arya. Do you understand that?” 

She doesn’t say anything, but as his thumb brushes along her cheek, a small smile blooms on her face, on that fills him with a relief he didn’t know he needed. 

“I should have talked to you about this before, before it got the best of me and ruined today.” 

“Ruin it?” Arya cuts in, the smile now a full blown grin.

“C’mon. You’re acting like I’ve never dealt with a grumpy Gendry before. I’m pretty sure it’s my specialty.”

He knows she’s trying to lighten the mood, knows exactly what she’s doing, but there’s still a twinge of shame that he just can’t let go of. 

“Still, I shouldn’t have let it get in the middle of our date. I’m sorry.” 

It feels like a shit peace offering considering how eloquently and honestly she’d bore her soul to him just moments ago, but it’s all he’s capable of and he hopes its enough. 

“It’s alright, really.” 

Arya is peering at him with understanding in her eyes, and because he’s so wrapped up in her face, in her smile, he doesn’t miss when she grows shyer, “but if you really want to make it up to me, I can think of a way.” 

“Anything.” He says breathlessly and tries really hard not to kiss the corner of her mouth when it curves up into another smile. 

“I know it’s poor form to discuss a second date when we’re not even done with our first, but I have to go to Bran’s fundraiser next weekend, come with me?”

He doesn’t even pretend to think about as he nods. 

“Done, but I don’t think it’s a fair trade.” 

“What do you have in mind?” 

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow goes up and he’s absolutely powerless against it, against her and how right she feels in his arms. How she instinctively tilts her chin up when he leans down to kiss her again. 

It’s not rushed this time, or urgent, or anything at all. It’s just a kiss, an interlude of indulgence and warmth and everything that’s so perfect and distinct about them. 

When he pulls apart, he can’t help but revel in the way Arya’s eyes remain closed for just a fraction of a second longer; as though she’s savoring the moment between them. 

“I’d say you just ratcheted it up to a solid 12 with that.” 

It takes Gendry a moment to realize what she’s referring to, but once he does, he can’t help the surge of warmth that bubbles up inside him. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yup.” 

Arya nods and although he doesn’t want to separate, doesn’t want to move an inch away from her, he pulls his keys out of his pocket to unlock the truck, and then opens the passenger door. 

“Let’s see what happens when I throw some Dornish food into the mix?” 

“Ooh, a man after my own heart.”

Arya says this as she slides in and winks at him playfully before closing the door. 

And all Gendry can think about as he makes his way around the truck is how ironic her words are, because she grabbed his heart a long time ago.

And apparently never gave it back. 

xxx


	17. water under the bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just don’t know if it’s the right thing for me to push my way into his life like that again.”
> 
> “Maybe you should let him decide that.” 
> 
> Her brother, as always, has a point.
> 
> When Arya looks back into the crowd to find Gendry’s gaze firmly trained on her, it not only reinforces his stance on their relationship, but also reminds her that she might actually be right there with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this entire chapter just a giant ball of sexual tension? Maybe. Do other things happen? Yes. Do I hope you enjoy it all? Absolutely. 
> 
> Title taken from the one and only Adele. As always, I own nothing but my gratitude to everyone who is reading and commenting. I value your feedback more than you know.

_For all her bravado, Arya is gut-wrenchingly nervous as she watches Gendry process what she’s just confessed. She can feel her own pulse in her throat as his piercing blue eyes skate over her in disbelief and confusion._

_“You love me?” He eventually chokes out and she nods, not trusting herself to speak._

_“You’re in love with me.” _

_He repeats after a long silence, and the inflection in his tone makes her heart plummet. She knows exactly where his uncertainty is coming from; knows he doesn’t feel worthy of her, of anyone really. _

_She has to be brave enough for the both of them right now. _

_“Yes, I do. I love you.” _

_She reaches for his hand at the same time that he lifts it to run it through his thick head of hair – the ultimate tell that Gendry is nervous. _

_“Look, if this is because of what we did last week, you don’t owe me anything, Arya. I wanted to do it. I’m glad you asked me to.” _

_He says this so emphatically, gaze verging on panic but also reflecting unabashed want. It’s all but a confirmation that he feels the same and it strips Arya of any fear she might have had. _

_If she had paid attention before, she would have seen the signs. Would have noticed that something had shifted in their dynamic since she returned from Harrenhal. _

_But she hadn’t. _

_At first, she was too busy grieving, then she was too busy recommitting to school, and then this summer came and it opened her eyes. _

_She hadn’t once wondered if maybe Gendry had felt something all along, but the way he’s looking at her now, like she’s both his greatest wish and nightmare all wrapped up into one – _

_Well, she may be daft when it comes to her own emotions sometimes, but his are plain to see and she knows it’s not something that bloomed overnight._

_ Gendry loves her. He’s in love with her. Even if he hasn’t said it, she can see it now and everything else suddenly seems a lot less scary. _

_And because she is who she is, she can’t help but tilt her head at him and smile. _

_“Of course, it’s not because I lost it to you, Gendry. You’re good but you’re not that goo-“_

_“Hey!” _

_She takes the opportunity to step fully into his orbit, close enough that she has to crane her head to look up at him. Gendry peers down at her, and Arya has the strongest urge to brush the strands of hair that flop over his forehead._

_She settles for laying a hand on his chest, hoping she doesn’t scare him off. _

_“I’m not in love with you because we had sex. Although, I personally think we should do it again, very soon.” _

_The instant flush on his cheeks doesn’t surprise her as much as his eyes growing dark does, and she has to blink to compose herself. _

_“I’m in love with you, because you’re you, and you let me be me. You take me seriously when no one else does. You make all the awful shit more tolerable and you’re just about the only person left in this world who can still make me laugh. Plus, you’re really hot. That helps.”_

_It’s the small smile that suddenly appears on his face, softening his features that does it for her. _

_“So, you really do love me.” _

_“Finally, he gets it.” _

_“Yes, he does.” _

_Suddenly, his lips are a hairsbreadth away from hers, and before she knows it, Gendry lifts her into his arms and closes the meager distance with a kiss. _

_Her legs wrap around his waist on instinct, hands slinking up around his shoulders to bury in his hair, and she has kissed a total of three people in her life, Gendry being one of them, but she knows this is how it’s meant to feel. _

_She’s almost completely fallen into it when Gendry pulls away. His brilliant blue eyes seem to bore right through, peeking straight into her soul. _

_“If it’s not clear, I’m very much in love with you too.” _

_He punctuates this with a kiss to her cheek, and Arya sighs against him._

_“Could be clearer.” _

_She can’t resist raising an eyebrow at him as she extends the challenge, but clearly, Gendry’s not intimidated. _

_He turns with her in his arms and deposits her unceremoniously onto his bed. _

_ “Let’s see if we can clarify things then.” He suggests from his position at the foot of it, already stripping off his shirt._

_Arya’s only response back is to smile and part her legs, letting him know exactly how he can go about it. _

_This time, Gendry is much quicker on the uptake._

xxx 

The dress is made of such fine satin, it feels like liquid cascading down her body.

Arya steals a glance at the full length mirror and although it’s only meant to be a cursory onceover, she still pauses at her own reflection.

She’d seen it in a store window once. The color – a rich, royal blue that reminded her so much of the sea – made it almost impossible for her to walk by without stopping to at least try it on.

With a scooped neck and an entirely open back, it reveals more skin than Arya is used to, but the second she’d put it on, it felt like she was meant to wear it.

The shade complimented her pale skin and dark hair, and it had required no real tailoring. Just a pair of heels high enough for the delicate hem not to drag on the floor. 

In short, it had made her feel beautiful, and she had bought it, despite not having anywhere to wear it. 

Until now that is. 

Attending Bran’s fundraiser makes her unduly excited, especially if she lets her mind wander to Gendry. 

She’s never been the type to dress up for a man, and she’d absolutely purchased this dress because of how it made _her_ feel. Yet, there’s no denying how her skin nearly prickles with anticipation at the possibility of his reaction. 

The only thing mildly inconvenient about it are the ties on the back. 

The straps crisscross along her spine, converging at the small of her back, and while she has a decent hold on them, she really needs someone else to secure them enough that she doesn’t accidentally end up naked in a room full of important people. 

A quick glance at the clock confirms that she has plenty of time to find Sansa and get her help. 

Her sister has decided to sit this one out. Last Arya had seen her, she’d been in the family room downstairs with Bran, Pod and Brienne, who’d arrived that morning. 

Figuring she can come back up to grab her heels and purse later, Arya makes her way out of her bedroom and to the second floor landing. 

Her eyes are trained on the floor, ensuring she doesn’t step on the hem as she calls for her sister. 

“In here,” Sansa’s voice filters from the sitting room, and Arya’s so focused on her descend, she doesn’t notice the two men standing in the foyer until she’s halfway down the staircase. 

The second she does though, she immediately halts. Breath catches in her throat as she encounters the unexpected blue gaze that sends a shiver down her exposed back. 

Her hold on the ties nearly loosens as she watches Gendry silently devour her. There’s really no other way to describe the intensity with which his eyes skate over her. 

She can’t help but compare how he’s looking at her now with how he did the night of the New Year’s Eve party.

It feels like the walls that were there before – the barriers that kept them dancing around each other – have lifted somewhat. 

The longer they stare at each other, the lighter Gendry’s gaze becomes until it fades into something else entirely. A softness that turns the heat pooling low in her belly into a warmth that finds a home in her heart. 

A smile falls unbidden on her face and she doesn’t stop moving until she’s right in front of him. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

They’re standing close enough now that Arya can see the way the corners of his eyes crinkle as his face splits into a grin. She steals a few more moments to just take him in. 

He’s dressed in a light gray suit with no tie. From this close, Arya can spot a bit of chest hair peeking out from the open collar of his white button down, and it makes her stomach flip.

As does the light stubble across his jaw, and the untamed hair that’s just on the cusp of falling across his forehead.

Pod clears his throat, and Arya finally registers his presence.

“I’m just going to go, over there, yeah.“ 

He points with his thumb over his shoulder, already awkwardly retreating back to the sitting room. 

When she turns back to look at Gendry, the intensity seems to have abated and they both dissolve into quieter smiles and dare she say it, _giggles._

At least, she feels like she’s giggling. Gendry’s laugh is lower, distinctly male and it sends a shiver down her spine, reminding her why she’d come down in the first place.

“Need some help?” 

He gestures towards her twisted hand and before Arya can completely assess the ramifications of it, she nods and turns around.

“Can you just –“ but she stops the moment Gendry’s hand brush hers, and it’s all she can do to not physically tremble as she relinquishes her hold on the ties. 

It only takes a moment or so for him to secure the loop, but between the thought of his long, calloused fingers so close to her bare skin and having _him_ so close, it feels like an eternity before he’s done.

“This okay?” He asks, and the way his breath fleets across her shoulder makes Arya glad she’s facing away from him so she can at least shut her eyes in an attempt to compose herself.

It doesn’t work that well, especially since her mind betrays her rather quickly with a succession of images from the not so distant past when Gendry had more than just his fingers on her naked skin.

“Yeah, thank you.” She finally breathes out, and yet neither of them makes a move to separate. 

Arya almost wants to lean back. Knows if she takes just one step backward, she’ll be pressed against his chest. She imagines how his strong, sturdy arms would wrap around her waist and draw her in. 

Even with her daydream, it’s still unexpected when she feels Gendry lean forward, his lips skirting the shell of her ear.

“I feel like this dress is my punishment for almost ruining our date, and yet I’m not sorry at all.” 

It’s truly sinful the impact his words have on her, but there’s something else that trumps the bolt of electricity they cause.

“For the last time, you didn’t ruin anything.” 

She whips around to admonish him only to realize he's merely teasing her. 

Being finally confronted with his handsome face though – especially when he looks so smug – makes her heart stammers in her chest again, and her eyes drop to his lips almost involuntarily. 

Gendry’s expression quickly shifts as he realizes her intention and Arya’s pretty certain he’s about to kiss her when – 

“Gendry, you’re here. You guys ready to go?” 

The question comes in the form of her brother, who appears in the doorway, with Brienne and Pod at his side. 

“Yes, let me just get my coat and shoes.” 

She gives Gendry one final look before ascending the stairs to get her things. 

It’s only later, when they’re in the car, that she gives him a purposeful onceover and addresses his earlier compliment.

“If my dress is somehow your penance, then what am I being punished for?” 

Gendry’s only response is the surreptitious slide of his hand under her dress, settling warm over her knee. 

It stays there the entire car ride. 

xxx 

Arya’s never been super tapped into Westerosi politics, but she knows this fundraiser is a big deal.

Not everyone was thrilled to see her youngest brother step into the role previously occupied by their father and then very briefly by Robb. Bran has truly done his best over the years, despite the press not always being too kind towards him, and by extension the entire Stark family. 

And with the upcoming election, he needs all the support he can get, which means face time. It means attending a stuffy museum benefit and mingling with the who’s who of the North. 

Old money, new money, local politicians, businessmen. 

They’re all here to buy overly priced art pieces, eat overly priced appetizers, and congregate around her poor brother like he’s a preacher leading a sermon. 

Arya supposes that comes with the job, and to his credit, Bran takes it all in stride. She, on the other hand, is immeasurably grateful that all that’s required of her is to show up.

When Gendry excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving her side seemingly for the first time all night, it occurs to her that they have truly been in their own world. 

Aside from admiring a few art pieces when they’d first arrived and sufficiently pillaging the buffet tables scattered across the periphery of the space, they’d settled in a quiet corner and had spoken only to each other. 

Sometime after her second glass of champagne, personal space had become nonexistent and she found herself leaning into the warmth Gendry seemed to create just by being in her vicinity. 

Now that she has a moment to herself, she’s reminded yet again that this thing with Gendry isn’t just physical. She’s known that for a while now, but the last few hours have stripped her of any doubt that might have still been lingering. 

She thought she’d feel panicked, nervous, or at least a little bit on edge but be it the champagne or just the general atmosphere, the anxiety doesn’t come. 

And she has zero interest in questioning it. 

Arya scans the crowd instead and her eyes land on her brother. 

She expects him to be surrounded by a group of people as usual, but it seems the vultures have eased up.

His sole companion is a petite dark haired woman who is leaning in very close, whispering something in his ear.

From this angle, Arya can’t see Bran’s face, but she would bet anything he’s smiling. When the mystery woman turns her head, everything clicks.

Arya hasn’t seen Meera Reed in well over a decade, but she instantly recognizes their old family friend. 

Along with her brother, Jojen, Meera had been a permanent fixture at the Stark home when they were growing up. 

They spent most of their time either holed up in Bran’s room or running around the Godswood pretending to be fighting some make believe battle or another. 

Rickon would try to tag along with them and Arya would join from time to time, but the siblings were really Bran’s friends. 

Even after his accident, they’d stuck around, providing the kind of support that only lifelong friends could in the wake of such a tragedy.

Especially since they were no strangers to grief and loss. 

Their own mother had passed away when they were just kids and then Jojen had died in a pretty terrible snowmobile accident right around the time of Arya’s graduation from the Academy. 

She still remembers how devastated Bran had been when he’d called to tell her what happened. It had taken a ton of convincing on his part to stop her from returning home. 

This specific memory pushes the final puzzle piece into place. 

Her mind replays the conversation she’d had with Bran over the holidays. The faraway look in his eye as he’d shared, for the first time, his regret over not being honest with the man he loved. 

Arya waits to make her move until Meera stands and with a hug that last a bit longer than necessary, leaves Bran to admire the painting alone. 

“It was Jojen, wasn’t it?” 

Her brother, ever the perceptive one, barely flinches at her words.

He does take his time answering, pivoting himself around so they’re both facing the crowd, his eyes scanning the space instead of looking at her. 

“It was, yes.” 

And though she knows it’s not Bran’s style to be anything other than direct, she’s still a bit surprised at his immediate honesty. 

“How come you never said anything?” 

“To whom?” 

Good question. 

“To me. To any of us really.” 

Bran does turn to look at her then and his blue eyes hold a weight to them that makes Arya pay extra attention.

“I guess I figured it wouldn’t be fair to tell someone else before I told Jojen, and then, well –“

“You know it wouldn’t have made a difference to any of us? Sansa, Jon, me. If you had told us.”

“Oh, I know that.” 

Bran’s face breaks into an unexpected smile.

“But there wasn’t much to tell you know. I was young, I didn’t fully understand my own feelings. By the time I did, it was too late. It didn’t feel right anymore.” 

“Well, as long as you know you can talk to me. About anything. No judgment here, right?” 

The words are absolutely more for herself than for Bran, but when they lock eyes again, there’s no way she can miss the appreciation reflecting back at her. 

She smiles down at him and turns back to watch the crowd, enjoying the comfortable solitude.

“It’s quite amusing that after all this time Gendry still has trouble engaging in small talk.” 

Bran's observation snaps Arya out of her thoughts. She follows his line of sight to where Gendry’s standing, talking to two older gentlemen who somehow manage to look both stiff and comical. 

He looks like he’s making a decent effort to engage, but keeps stealing glances in their direction, suggesting he’d much rather be standing next to her. If there is one thing Arya knows about Gendry is that his tolerance for people, especially people in this type of environment, is even lower than hers. And that’s saying something.

“Yeah. He hates it, but it’s fun to watch him try to find a polite way to exit.” 

“That’s probably true, but he also does a great job of feigning interest when he has to.” 

Something about his words gives her pause. 

“What do you mean he has to?” 

“When he’s had to pitch to donors himself before.” 

Bran expands far too casually, and it forms a knot beneath her ribs. 

“Why would Gendry need to pitch donors?” 

“You should ask him.” 

On a good day, getting information out of her brother is like getting blood from a stone. Yet, she can’t help but feel a little irked that Bran of all people knows something about Gendry that she doesn’t. 

“Clearly, he doesn’t want me to know.” 

“I don’t believe that’s true.” 

His certainty only serves to flare up Arya's petulance and she stares resolutely ahead. 

“How are you so sure? He’s clearly choosing to keep things from me.” 

“Not his feelings for you.” 

Bran’s response is so quick, it nearly gives Arya whiplash. 

“What? What are you talking about? What feelings?” 

Her brother remains absolutely unfazed, fixing her with a look that tells her he sees right through her. 

“Oh, so you’re not dating then? I could have sworn that since you brought him here as your plus one, that you – “ 

“I didn’t say we weren’t dating.” 

She doesn’t completely disagree with him, but now that they’re talking about it, it doesn’t feel as cut and dry as it did when she’d reflected on it earlier. 

“We’re just getting to know each other again. I think it’s too early to assign _feelings_ to anything –“

But it’s Bran’s turn to lose patience with her. 

“Too early? Haven’t you guys been sleeping together for months now?” 

Arya doesn’t embarrass easily, but at this, she can’t help the heat that creeps up her neck.

“How did you even –” 

She pauses when Bran’s expression shifts to one of slight amusement. As if daring her to ask what’s really a ridiculous question. 

“Ugh, never mind.” 

She tries to wave him off, but apparently her brother isn’t finished. 

“Arya, Gendry has been in love with you since we were kids. It’s obvious even to the least observant of us all. All that really matters is how you feel about it, about _him,_ and I’m fairly certain we both know.” 

His words cause her blood to spike and her heart to stammer wildly again, but she might be forever doomed to cover up her real feelings with deflection. 

“And you say you’re not a romantic?” 

Bran’s expression doesn’t waver.

“Don’t run from this, Arya. There’s no reason to.” 

Knowing what she knows now about his past, about the regrets that he carries with him, softens some of her defensiveness.

Gendry _has_ loved her since they were kids, and when she’d left, she had to take that love along with her own, lock it up in a mental drawer, and throw away the key. 

It was the only way she could have survived leaving him.

But now? 

What’s stopping her from giving in completely? 

“I’m not running, Bran. I’m not.” She says firmly, resolutely, even though her insides are a jumble of thoughts and feelings. 

“I just don’t know if it’s the right thing for me to push my way into his life like that again.” 

“Maybe you should let him decide that.” 

Her brother, as always, has a point.

When she looks back into the crowd to find Gendry's cerulean gaze trained on her, it not only reinforces where where stands on the matter of their relationship, but also reminds her that she might actually be right there with him.

The realization prompts her to deliver some truths of her own. 

“You should see Meera again before you leave. I saw how you were talking. You haven’t smiled like that in so long.” 

“Yeah, we were reminiscing about the old days, before you know life got in the way.” 

He gestures to the room, as if to explain what he means by life and as much as Arya wants to talk more about this with him, she knows now is not the time. 

She settles for petting his shoulder, removing a piece of lint from his suit jacket in the process. Bran's expression is wistful when he looks at her again. 

“Gendry is a good man, Arya and despite what you might tell yourself on occasion, you deserve some good.” 

“I think we both do.” 

She raises her eyebrow in challenge, knowing that even her little brother – the big time politician – is no match for that expression. Bran doesn’t disappoint, shaking his head as he unlocks the chair break. 

“Duly noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think that’s all the reprieve I’m going to get.” 

“Okay.” 

Arya lets him go, watching as he wheels himself towards an expectant group off to the side. 

It’s only a few moments before she feels that familiar pair of eyes on her again. 

This time, she doesn’t just smile back at Gendry, but gestures towards the exit leading to the balcony. 

He nods back, and Arya makes her way to the doors, certain that he’s not too far behind. 

xxx

She’s not outside for more than minute before she feels something warm draped over her bare shoulders. 

She instinctively grabs onto the edges of the material and recognizes it as the suit jacket Gendry’s been wearing all night. He appears next to her a second later, and she can’t help but think that here, against the evening backdrop, his blue eyes are somehow even more startling. 

“Thought you might be cold,” he explains before leaning on the railing besides her. 

The balcony is enclosed with a clear tarp for the winter months, but it’s not well insulated, and Arya can’t resist teasing him a little bit.

“Who’s the Southerner between us?” 

“I can always take it back.” 

Gendry tries to reach for it, but Arya moves away.

“No chance.” 

“Thought so.” 

His easy smile reminds her just how easy all of this is with him. 

The banter, the gentle touches, the pull that seems ever present. 

It’s the other stuff, what they haven’t said to each other, that’s capable of creating a wedge, and she doesn’t want that to happen. 

“Was that Meera Reed your brother was talking to?” 

She nods, turning back to the scenery in front of her. 

“I hadn’t had a chance to say hello earlier. Should do that before we leave.” 

“Same.” 

She doesn’t say anything else and can feel Gendry’s impatience radiating off of him in waves. 

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, I was just thinking.” 

“About what?” 

They turn to face each other nearly at the same time and then there’s nowhere for her to run, to avoid. 

“Something Bran said to me earlier. About how you’ve had to attend events like this to pitch donors. It sort of threw me for a loop.” 

The hint of discomfort that passes across Gendry’s face is difficult to ignore. 

“Yeah, I guess I haven’t shared much about my life in Storm’s End?” 

He phrases it like a question and she takes the opportunity to preempt any guilt he might be feeling. 

“Not really, but I think it’s fine. If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s okay – “ 

“That’s not it, I do want to tell you, Arya. I do, it’s just – “ 

He runs his fingers through his hair, and it’s remarkable that after all this time, she can still spot his tell. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s just, do you have any idea how intimidating you are?”

“Intimidating?” 

Confusion must come through clearly on her face, because Gendry can’t hide his smile when he gazes down on her. 

“Yes, I mean look at you. You spent the last decade risking your life on an almost daily basis to take down bad guys. To do good in this world. It just felt like whatever I have done wouldn’t measure up.” 

His explanation only opens the door to more questions and although she’d promised herself she’d be patient, she probes anyway. 

“You know it’s not a competition, Gendry –” 

“I know that. Look, your opinion, it matters to me, alright? I don’t think I even knew how much until you came back. It didn’t necessarily make me question my life choices, but it did make me realize just how important what you thought of me was, and I guess that’s why I’ve had a hard time telling you more.” 

Of all the things she thought Gendry would say, this was nowhere near the list. 

There’s still something familiar about it, about the fears he has, because a part of her shares them too. 

“I get it.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah, I mean –” 

Bran’s words from earlier pop into her head, and Arya has to pause, because she knows this is important. 

“I did carve a life out for myself that had nothing to do with my family or my last name, but you did something that was even braver. You swallowed your pride and you stayed. Whatever you did in the last ten years isn’t going to change my mind about that. Or you for that matter.” 

Gendry’s expression remains largely unreadable in the seemingly endless stretches of silence that follow, but Arya keeps her gaze on him and is rewarded with a flash of something that makes her heart flutter. 

“You’re – “ 

He starts, then stops, shaking his head, a smile tugging on his lips. 

“I don’t know how you do that.” 

The blatant adoration in his gaze warms her more than the jacket draped around her shoulders. 

“Do what?” 

“Always find the right thing to say.” 

And it’s hard to not get wrapped up in all of it, in him, especially when he’s this close to her, but Arya still has a hard time accepting the complete awe coloring his words. 

“I don’t know about that.” 

She means to turn back to face the garden again but Gendry doesn’t let her, hand reaching out to grasp her cheek. 

“You do though.”

They’re so close now, Gendry’s voice is just one step above a whisper but she hears it loud and clear. 

“Whether you believe it or not, you always managed to put me at ease. Even when you’re being an argumentative pain in my ass.” 

She wants to tease him right back, say something that will ease the intensity growing between them, but his thumb brushes across her skin, and her mind goes hazy again. 

“Would it be plagiarism if I said ditto?” 

She doesn’t miss the flicker of mirth in Gendry's eyes as he drops his hand to frame the other side of her waist. 

“It would be but I’ll allow it.” 

“Making exceptions, are we?” 

“For you, always.” 

She steadies herself with palms pressed against his chest and tries not to get absolutely lost in in how good it is to be this close to him. 

“How do you expect me not to have my way with you right here when you say shit like that?” 

Gendry’s gaze drops purposefully down to the low neckline of her dress. 

“I could say the same thing about what you’re wearing.” 

“Fair point.” 

And then they’re smiling at each other – grinning really – and the little remnant of tension finally uncoils. 

Even though she doesn’t know everything, at least Gendry has opened the door, making her feel like she may not have to race against time to get to know him better. 

As if sensing her words, he reaches up to rub his jaw. 

“Listen, I do want to talk, just maybe-“

“Not here?” 

“Yeah.” 

And she can practically feel his relief, like he’s happy that she understands him without saying very much. 

It sets her heart ablaze, emboldens her to lean over and finger the top button on his shirt, the one closest to the sliver of skin that’s exposed by his collar. 

“How about we blow this popsicle stand then? These heels are killing me anyway.” 

“Want me to carry you, m’lady?” 

It’s so obviously a joke but she still feels a rush of heat at the prospect of Gendry scooping her into his arms. 

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” 

He raises his arms in mock surrender and Arya grabs onto his bicep. 

“I’ll settle for an escort though.” 

She doesn’t wait for his answer, linking their hands together and leading them back inside. 

xxx 

The house is dark and silent when they step inside. 

“Feels a little like we’re sneaking in past curfew, huh?” 

Without light, she can barely see Gendry but she feels his words on the back of her neck. When she turns to face him, his eyes still reel her in, making her throat run dry.

“A little bit, yea.” 

She remembers all the nights they’d snuck out together in King’s Landing, always up to something, always trying to push the boundaries. 

It’s what she’s done her entire life, and Gendry had always been by her side, always there to pull her back from the metaphorical edge. 

Now, watching as he takes off his coat and hangs it casually on the rack, Arya has to ask herself again how she could have spent so much time away from him. 

If Gendry catches onto her thoughts, he doesn’t show it. The way he looks at her though - warm, intense, and oddly intimate - reminds her that they’re alone, and she finally gives into the urge that’s been thrumming through her all evening, reaching up to pull his mouth down on hers. 

It’s amazing that her legs don’t immediately give out with how readily Gendry kisses her back, lips moving in a practiced slide over hers as he crowds her. 

They’ve been here before, but it feels new somehow. 

Like an adventure that’s wholly different from anything they’ve ever done before. The promise of it helps to quell some of her urgency. 

When they come up for air, Arya stays put, tracing the short hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Want to go upstairs?” 

“Sure, yeah.” 

It’s hard not to get carried away by the breathlessness in his tone, but she persists, taking off her heels and leading them up the staircase. 

When they slip into her room, they leave their shoes by the door. Arya makes her way to her nightstand, dropping off her clutch and flicking on the table lamp. 

Light filters in, illuminating Gendry where he stands on the other side of her bed, his expression giving Arya pause.

“What?” 

“Oh, nothing.”

He shrugs off his blazer and drapes it over her desk chair; then removes his cufflinks and rolls up his shirt sleeves as he rounds the bed to her side. 

Arya swallows hard as he comes to stand in front of her.

“Just you know,” he says when he’s close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheek, “being in Arya Stark’s bedroom at such a late hour, a guy’s dream really.” 

With the glow of the lamp, it feels like she’s seeing him clearly for the first time tonight. 

He really is stupidly gorgeous, she thinks. She lets her hands slide up his arms, tracing his sturdy frame, feeling that warmth and strength that threatens to unravel her at every turn. 

“Remember when I used to sneak you into our house in King’s Landing?” 

The only thing stopping Arya from kissing him again is the suddenly pensive expression on his face, as though something she said has also sparked a memory. 

She guides them to the reading nook by the window, the one that overlooks the Godswood and the forest beyond the property. 

The moon is bright tonight, but it still doesn’t match the singularity of Gendry’s gaze. She settles herself at his side, bent leg pressed flush against his thigh.

“It’s so different now.” He says, eyes slipping from her to peer at the floor.

“What is?” 

It takes everything in her not to crawl into his lap. 

“King’s Landing.”

“Do you go back there often?” 

“Just once or twice a year.” 

Arya can tell by the slight tension in his shoulders that he’s looking for the right words to say. 

“Usually, for events like tonight’s.” 

She gives him her most encouraging smile, and Gendry acknowledges it silently, hand dropping to settle on her calf and pull it over his legs. 

“What did you need to fund raise for?” 

His grip tightens as he regards her for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes before he speaks again.

“When I first got to Storm’s End, I had no idea what to do with Robert’s money. Bella was in the same boat. We’d both put away some, but the rest was just sitting there; just like his estate. Mya and Edric agreed to let us decide what to do with it.

One day, we got to talking and realized there were so few resources for kids like us in the Stormlands. We thought why not pool some of our money together and do something about it.

It took about a year and a half to set up the place. To get the proper approvals, hire the right staff. Robert’s lawyers actually helped a lot, and eventually so did Bran. You’d be surprised what you can do if you have the backing of a Stark.” 

“And yet you still have a hard time keeping a poker face when someone boring talks to you.” 

Gendry shoots her an exasperated look, like he knows she may never let him live it down. And she might not. 

“Yeah, but better me than Bella, who would just tell them to fuck off.”

Arya doesn’t hold back her laughter, and some of the tension eases from Gendry’s face.

It’s brief though, and then he’s glancing down at his lap again, fingers tracing her skin as he resumes talking. 

“It takes a lot to run a group home, so I suck it up when I need to. We need the money to keep our doors always open, especially for kids who are close to aging out of the system. They’re typically the least likely to get fostered or adopted.”

What he doesn’t say is that it’s also the age when kids need the most emotional support, which he knows from personal experience. 

Arya sees it plainly written on his face, that he’s reflecting on all the ways that his life may have turned out differently if his mother hadn’t died. If Robert had wanted him. If he had kept on living with Tobho and his wife and never met any of the Starks. 

The idea of not knowing him doesn’t sit well with her, and Arya covers her hand with his, suddenly needing to feel more than just his fingers on her skin. 

“Sounds like you did something very worthwhile with Robert’s money. Even if it’s kind of ironic since he abandoned what four of his biological children?” 

Gendry grins at her then like he knows something she doesn’t. 

“What?” She pokes his shoulder impatiently. 

“There was no way we’d put the Baratheon name on a group home, Arya. I just couldn’t do it.” 

“What did you call it then?” 

His smile drops just slightly but there’s still humor in his expression, and maybe a hint of nerves. 

“The Meredyth Waters Home for the Youth.” 

“After your mum.” 

“Yeah. I just couldn’t let him have the last word, ya know?”

As soon as the words sink in, Arya can’t conceal her amusement, a snicker bubbling up out of her unexpectedly. 

“Wow, what a brilliant fuck you,” she observes, “and a perfect way to honor someone who actually did right by her kid.” 

This up close it’s impossible not to see how touched Gendry is by her words, eyes large and hand firmly pressed into her leg.

“Thank you for saying that.” 

“It’s only the truth,” she shrugs, “but you’re welcome.” 

Gendry doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t look away either. 

A second later, Arya becomes hyper aware of his fingers once again moving along her skin, shooting tingles up the back of her leg. 

She doesn’t dare move or look away, not when it’s obvious by the slight knit of his eyebrows that Gendry still has something left to say. 

“Nobody had called me Waters in so long, not until you did that night in the bar.” 

She knows exactly which night he’s referring to – remembers their easy conversation, his triumphant smile as he bested her at pool; the look of pride as he showed her photos of his nephews. 

But she also remembers the urgency with which he kissed her when she’d climbed on top of him in his truck; remembers the scrape of his beard against the sensitive skin of her throat as he popped the button on her jeans and slipped his hand inside.

“You’ll always be a Waters to me.” 

Gendry’s eyes widen ever so slightly, a look passing across his face that leaves Arya feeling unsure about whether she should have said that. 

It’s mostly why when he opens his mouth again, she preempts him. 

“Did you really not want to tell me about this because you were intimidated or was there another reason?” 

He doesn’t say anything at first and it only amplifies her uncertainty, spurring her to fill in the silence. 

“Because what you did is something to be proud of, Gendry. It’s –“ 

“It’s not that.”

His hand temporarily abandons her calf to rub at his jaw as he gathers a breath.

“Like I said, your opinion matters a lot to me, it always has, but I guess I’ve also just had a hard time trusting you again.” 

Arya’s not surprised by his admission. He’d all but admitted it when they’d argued about Jon’s job offer. 

As much as it stings, she’s the last person who can fault him for something like that. 

She just needs to know that they’re on the same page. 

“Do you see that changing in the future?” 

The sudden quirk of his lips tells Arya everything she needs to know, but she still needs him to confirm. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“You are.” 

He tugs on her calf and the air between them changes instantly, like a spark going off.

“C’mere.” 

But she’s already moving, hiking the skirt of her dress up to straddle him. 

His hands instantly settle on her hips, holding her close as he exhales heavily and locks eyes with her again. His jaw twitches and she can't resist running her thumb across it. 

“I’m tired of pretending like I don’t want you. _All_ of you.” 

His admission alone would send Arya’s heart racing, but add to that how exhausted he sounds, as if it’s taken all of his energy to keep this to himself, and Gods help her, she’s powerless against this man. 

Powerless against the dizzying effect he has on her, against the words that she knows are right there, hanging between them like a livewire.

_I love you, I’ve always loved you _

“That’s good,” she says instead, bringing his mouth closer, “since you’re shit at pretending anyway.” 

Gendry seems to agree, his low laugh sending a tremor through her entire body. 

He chases it away, fingers gliding up her spine as he looks up at her.

“Arya…”

She’s always loved the way he says her name.

How it can roll off his tongue in near reverence, or frustration, or amusement, but for once, she’s not interested in hearing what he has to say. 

Gendry meets her in the middle – as he always does – leaning up as she guides him down. 

Then they’re kissing and just like earlier, it instantly feels different. 

It’s not avoidance, or desperation, or a way to blow off steam. It’s a promise, a willingness to forgive and attempt a move forward. 

The thought sends a bolt of heat straight through her, or it might be the way Gendry expertly slides his tongue in her mouth, tracing the seam of her lips. Either way, Arya leans into it, greedily taking everything he’s giving her and repaying in kind. 

His hand slides into her hair, messing up the low twist she’d spent at least a half hour on when she was getting ready, but she couldn’t care less. 

Not with the way his fingers massage her skull, while his other hand travels up her bare thigh, pressing her further into him. 

She pulls away almost involuntarily as she feels how hard he is already beneath her.

“If it wasn’t clear, I don’t want to pretend either.”

“It’s clear,” Gendry says quickly back, voice strained and expression full of so much longing that she gives him only a moment – just long enough for him to brush his lips against the inside of her wrist – before she kisses him again. 

His mouth is more insistent this time, the restraint she felt before nonexistent.

The need to touch him returns tenfold, and her hands are already gliding down to his chest, fingers deftly hooking into the buttons of his shirt when Gendry pulls away to drag his lips along her jaw, her cheek and up her neck. 

Abandoning her attempts to undress him, her hand disappears into his hair to keep him in place, and she can feel his smile as he lathes that spot behind her ear that he knows so well. 

“All I could think about tonight was getting you out of this dress.” 

Both his hands settle on the small of her back, and Arya immediately tugs on his hair to get him to look at her. 

“What are you waiting for then?”

Gendry smirks at her, blue eyes sparking dangerously, still tracing patterns on her skin. 

She’s a second away from pushing his hands out of the way and doing it herself, when she suddenly feels the ties give way beneath his fingers. 

With just one tug to the delicate straps on her shoulders, the fabric of her dress melts away, exposing her to the slightly chilled air in the room.

She’d be embarrassed at how quickly her nipples tighten, but the way Gendry stares at her, like he'd be content to not look anywhere else ever again, eclipses everything but her need for him. 

He doesn’t give her much time to reflect on his, brushing against the undersides of her breasts at the same time as his lips drop to her sternum. 

It sends a white hot flash of arousal right down her middle, culminating in a throb between her thighs, and she tries to grind down on him. 

“Gendry…”

She wants more. She wants more friction, more of his bare skin on hers, anything to alleviate the ache now starting to bloom at an untenable rate.

Gendry doesn’t seem to be in any rush, taking his time to drop open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone and shoulder, hands intentionally shy of where she wants them. 

Determined to put an end to it, Arya tilts her head down to kiss him but he chooses that moment to drag his thumb right across her nipple, and she stills. Her lower lip finds itself between her teeth and she feels a sharp exhale against her skin.

“You know when you do that, it just makes me want to bite your lip for you.” 

“So do it,” she breathes out quickly, eyes slipping open just enough to see the borderline leer on Gendry's face.

“I have a better idea.” 

Before any witty remark can take shape in her mind, she feels first the rough scrape of his stubble against the swell of her breast and then the wet heat of his mouth closing around her nipple. 

He grips her ass tightly, while his other hand snakes up her chest, palming her other breast, and everything else truly ceases to matter. 

Just Gendry, and his firm grip, and his determined mouth, and the way he keeps working her like she’s a piece of metal, or wood, or any of the materials he’s expertly molded and shaped to his will. 

Cold air hits her skin when he eventually tears his lips away, replacing them with his hand as he mutters something about how soft her skin is. 

Arya can barely make out what he’s saying but it hits her all the same, reminding her that all his sucking and licking has only made her more wrought with need.

“I need you to touch me, Gendry.” 

“Just tell me where.”

But his hands are already trailing down, making her twitch and shiver as he traces the band of skin beneath her navel. 

She doesn’t hesitate drawing his face towards hers to whisper, “lower, much lower” before capturing his mouth with an intention that cannot be mistaken. 

Gendry doesn’t waste time, eagerly returning her kiss as he slides his hand underneath her dress and into her underwear. 

She’s so wet, so absolutely slick with want, she barely feels the first sweep of his fingers. He makes up for it at the second pass, finding her clit and settling there. 

There’s little space between them but it’s enough for him to apply just the right amount of pressure and her hips jerk forward on instinct. 

Arya moans into his mouth, teeth scraping his bottom lip as her nails dig into his shoulders.

The action pulls a grunt from Gendry, and he re-situates her on his lap until his hand can disappear completely between them. 

“This where you wanted?” 

His voice is gruff but also shockingly tender, like velvet against the shell of her ear. He doesn’t wait for her reply, filling her up and pressing his palm right on that spot that her sucking in air. 

“Fuck, yes.” 

Arya leans into him, nipples catching against the rough fabric of his shirt and intensifying the jolts of electricity that keep shooting through her as Gendry works her with a familiarity that’s only reserved for him. 

It’s a passing thought at first – just how attuned he is with her body – but as the pleasure starts to build, winding tighter and tighter around her every muscle, Arya becomes of just what’s happening. 

Her eyes peel open even though she has every desire to keep them shut. The way Gendry’s staring at her, face some dazed mix of desire and utter captivation only pushes her closer to the edge.

She’s not quite there though, and her body tenses ever so slightly, a whine of frustration spilling out of her. 

“Gendry, I, ugh –“ 

“I’ve got you.”

Arya barely hears him over the thrum of her own pulse, beating a staccato rhythm in her ears. She _feels_ him though. 

Feels how perfectly his fingers stretch and prob her; how he puts just the right amount of pressure on her clit; how her breasts mash right into his hard chest. 

And it might be all of those things working in tandem to unspool her. Or maybe it’s just Gendry’s eyes, fixed on her so intently, they take her breath away.

The tight coil snaps with little warning and then she’s falling. 

Her head drops to his shoulder, moans stifled against his throat as she ruts half-heartedly against him, trying to ride the wave after wave of euphoria shooting through her. 

Gendry holds her through it, hand slowing down between them as she slowly comes down from her high.

When she can finally hear something other than the incessant thud of her heart in her throat, Arya leans back to look at him, an indulgent smile on her lips. 

“I knew your fingers were better than mine.” 

His expression turns dark instantly, an impatient growl dropped somewhere near her shoulder. 

“Fuck, Arya. You can’t just –“ 

But he stops himself, hoisting her up by her thighs, and moving them to the bed before Arya’s managed to undo the remaining two buttons on his shirt. 

As soon he lies down beside her, he pulls her into another kiss, hand yanking her underwear off before pushing her legs apart and squeezing the inside of her thigh possessively.

“Gendry.” 

But he doesn’t seem to hear her, pulling away to nip at her throat as his fingers trace up higher and higher. 

He brushes her clit again, gentler than before but no less insistent, and it leaves her feeling just as desperate for him, arching against his hand as he braces himself on his forearm over her. 

“What’s wrong?” 

There’s a smirk playing on his lips that only intensifies the throb where his fingers are circling her again. 

“Are you not going to come like this?” 

“No, I will,” she replies shakily, not recognizing her own voice, and the determination on Gendry’s face kills whatever objection she might have had. 

“Good.” 

He leans down to trace her nipple with his tongue, and her mind shuts off completely. 

When she comes this time, it’s with Gendry's mouth on her tit, his hard-on pressed into her hip, and a fistful of his hair in her grasp. 

And when her vision finally clears to find him staring down at her with wild, unfocused eyes, Arya shimmies out of her dress, hooks her leg over his hips and pushes him on his back. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” she tugs at his belt, guided entirely by her need to have him inside her and not caring how they get there. 

His hands become a distraction as they skirt up her sides, calloused fingers leaving tingling imprints on her skin. 

“Unbutton your shirt.” 

But her command is weak at best, and Gendry doesn’t seem to want to listen, choosing instead to keep running maddening circles over her nipples.

She moves faster, hurriedly unzipping his fly and pushing his slacks and boxers down just to where she needs them. 

There’s some satisfaction in how his hands still when she takes a hold of him, heavy and familiar and warm, so warm in her palm. But it’s nothing compared to the groan that spills into the air as she rubs him along her slit and then sinks down on him. 

“Seven Hells, _Arya._” 

She slides her hands under his shirt, pushing it up and giving herself a perfect view of his abs as she starts to rock against him. 

Each glide of his cock feels like it hits some new sensation inside her, her cunt fluttering around him at every pass and she can’t help but ride him faster, nails digging into his skin, and making them both moan louder. 

There’s more light on this side of the room from her table lamp, and it casts Gendry in an ambient glow, revealing each and every emotion flittering across his handsome face. 

And as absolutely unreal as he feels inside her, Arya finds herself focused on something else entirely. On how he's always there for her, in whatever way she needs him. 

Because he loves her and _fuck,_ she loves him too. 

The revelation makes her feel weightless, unburdened, like she can do anything. 

She keeps her gaze firmly fixed on Gendry as she drags a hand down her stomach to settle between her legs. 

His eyes drop to half-mast as he tracks the movement of her fingers, but her triumph lasts only a moment.

Then his much larger, rougher hand molds right over her breast, reminding her once again that as much as she thinks she has him under her mercy, he’s just as capable of unraveling her. 

The thought has her reaching for his hand and bringing it to her lips. She drops a kiss to the inside of his palm before pulling his thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue and scraping her teeth against it.

And it seems to be the final straw for Gendry. He grabs her by the hips and in the next second, Arya finds herself lifted and pushed onto her back beneath him. 

He starts moving inside her almost immediately, hitting every sensitive inch of her at a frequency that soon has her clenching around him, climbing yet another peak while he continues to chase his first. 

Judging by the stuttering pace of his hips against hers, and his breath coming out in short spurts from somewhere above, Arya knows with certainty he’ll get there first. 

And she's content to keep him cradled between her thighs, legs locked around him as he pounds into her. 

But she doesn’t account for him shoving his hand between their bodies, pulling a sharp gasp from her as his fingers start to circle and rub. 

She bites into his shoulder, nails digging into his back, anything to gain purchase against the mounting pressure, and all it takes is the feeling of Gendry finally, finally shuddering inside her to send her spiraling again. 

She’s vaguely aware of his hand slipping from between her legs to press her firmly into the mattress as he empties inside her, but the awareness is trumped by the heat that continues to roll through her body. 

Eventually, the feeling abates and Arya is suddenly grateful they’d made it to the bed, because she’s not sure she could do much of anything but lie here and try to steady her erratic heartbeat. 

Gendry seems to feel the same, movements lethargic and slow as he rolls off of her onto his back. 

When she can breathe properly again, Arya turns to face him, propping herself on her elbow, and gazing down at his flushed face. 

“I’m not tired."

Gendry smirks at her, wiping the sweat from his forehead. 

“I might need a minute.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

She swats him lightly before tracing a finger down his stomach, indulging in the twitch of his muscles. 

“I just don’t want you to leave.” 

Gendry doesn’t say anything at first, but he takes a hold of her hand and brings it up to his lips. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

He makes a point of chucking the remainder of his clothes and pulling the throw at the bottom of the bed over both of them. 

They lie like that, Arya tucked into his side, enjoying each other’s quiet company until she rises up again, settling herself across his chest.

“Tell me more about Storm’s End.” 

He draws her up for a kiss before responding. 

“What would you like to know?” 

“Everything,” Arya says quickly, not bothering to hide her curiosity, “tell me everything.” 

xxx


	18. woman i adore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sight of her like this, lips swollen from his kisses, expression a little wild, a little dazed pushes the words out of him before he can stop them.
> 
> “This is never going to get old, is it?” 
> 
> Arya’s eyes widen, whether from his question or from how his hand cradles her cheek, Gendry can’t be sure. When she speaks, he finds that he doesn’t care much. 
> 
> “I hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I updated but I'm back with a chapter that's basically 80% fan service...you'll see what I mean. 
> 
> This one's dedicated to the one and only fineosaur, who continues to inspire me and whose patience with my whiny muse is second to none. <3
> 
> As per usual, I own nothing. Characters belong to GRRM; chapter title stolen from Mumford & Sons. 
> 
> Please enjoy and mind the rating xoxo.

Gendry has never been a morning person. He’s never enjoyed rising with the sun or cared to be up before the rest of the world. 

He’s always woken up early out of necessity. Overseeing a school and managing his own side business didn’t allow him to indulge in his night owl tendencies. The only thing that’s changed with his temporary move up North is that the nights here are much longer. 

Now, his alarm sounds just as the sun peeks over the horizon, letting enough light in to help guide his way sleepily out of his bedroom in search of caffeine. 

Except today he’s not in his bedroom; and since they hadn’t bothered shutting the curtains the night before – much too wrapped up in conversation and then each other – Gendry knows the exact moment that dawn breaks. 

A sharp ray of light flits across Arya’s face, causing her to squint mid-speech, but doing nothing whatsoever to quell the surge of affection he feels as he takes in her smile. 

“You did not!” She exclaims in a raised whisper as she scoots further up their shared pillow; the sliver of sun drifts across her collarbone and down the bare skin of her shoulder. 

“I’m telling you,” Gendry shifts on the bed, tucking his bicep under his head to mirror her stance even as his eyes chase the light along her body, “that was the first time it actually mattered which eating utensil I picked and sadly, I picked wrong.” 

“Gendry, you used the oyster fork for salad, I just-“ 

She dissolves into giggles then, actual _giggles_, and for a moment, he’s utterly stupefied by this version of Arya Stark; pale skin flushed with amusement and gray eyes sparkling as she tries to control her laughter. 

Logically, he knows it’s not actually possible for a human being to look this good, this utterly captivating. 

He also knows very well that if Arya caught a whiff of the thoughts in his head, he’d instantly receive a swift kick to the ribs if not much worse, and yet –

Logic has no place here. Not with Arya’s leg wedged firmly between his, freezing toes running up and down his calf and leaving goosebumps all over his body – all the evidence Gendry needs to know how absolutely gone he is for her. 

“What can you really expect from a bastard from Flea Bottom?” 

It’s meant to be in jest – it’s truly been years since he’s only seen himself as that – but something still blooms low and warm inside him when Arya’s laughter stills and she reaches up to cradle his cheek. 

“You’re certainly not that anymore. If you ever really were.”

She says it quietly, fingers scratching at his beard, and Gendry doesn’t think twice about turning his head and kissing the inside of her wrist. 

Then, because he can, and because he absolutely wants to, he draws her closer by the back of her neck until her mouth is beneath his.

He’s lost count of how many times they’ve kissed since the night before, but every time he draws her bottom lip between his, or her tongue slides against his, or she makes that little sound that goes straight through him, Gendry has to actively remind himself that it was worth it to deprive them both of this for weeks to get to this point. To be this close and this open with each other without any barriers between them – physical or otherwise. 

He pulls back to find slightly dazed eyes watching him in interest, and he can’t resist slinging his arm loosely over her waist to bring her closer. 

Arya goes willingly, tucking herself into his side and pressing her nose into his chest. They lie like that until Gendry feels a yawn come on, reminding him how little sleep they’d actually gotten the night before. His inability to stifle it invariably causes Arya to grin at him teasingly when she tips her head back to appraise him.

“You’re way too old to stay up all night.”

“You’re the one who kept me busy.” 

He fixes her with a meaningful gaze as he drops a kiss to her forehead, but Arya simply shakes her head and rolls away from him, searching for something on her nightstand. 

The covers twist around her, slipping down and exposing the delicate curve of her spine, along with the edge of the tattoo that winds below her breasts. His hand reaches out to trace it, and he doesn’t stop even when Arya turns to look at him over her shoulder, short hair spilling over the side. 

She’s not wrong, they didn’t really sleep at all the night before, but most of that time had been spent talking about his life in Storm’s End. 

They’d covered everything from him meeting Bella for the first time to devising a game plan for the school they’d decided to co-run, to starting up his own contracting business on the side. 

They didn’t really talk about Arya at all, and Gendry’s reminded of this as his thumb brushes over the raised flesh, tracing the scars hidden beneath the black lines etched into her skin. 

There are love bites littered across her breasts and some on the pale skin of her throat, but Gendry’s attention is squarely on the skin below his palm. When she lies back down beside him, he props himself up on his side for a better look. 

“When did you get this done?” 

Arya glances down briefly, doing her own version of a shrug. 

“Almost as soon as the doctor cleared me. I’d always wanted a tattoo but we weren’t allowed at work – for identification purposes. Since I’m not with the agency anymore, seemed as good a time to get it as any.” 

There’s a nonchalance about her words that doesn’t sit right with him. He files it away for later, instead admiring the elegant inky black lines that render the slightly jagged pink lines of her scars nearly invisible to the eye. 

“Why Weirwood leaves?” 

Arya’s own hand settles on top of his, stilling the movement of his fingers.

“Wanted something that reminded me of home, I guess.” 

“Well, it’s beautiful. Probably the prettiest tattoo I’ve ever seen.”

Her gaze darkens slightly at his words, and then there’s a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth that Gendry knows can only signal something a little dangerous and a lot tantalizing. 

“Seen a lot of tattoos then?” Arya asks with a hint of flirtation, turning on her side and sliding close enough to press against him shoulder to hip. 

The heat from her skin sends a delicious shiver down his spine, settling into that low pressure he is well acquainted with. 

Gendry gives in, bringing her into the circle of his arms again as he buries his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent.

There’s a trace of the perfume she wore the night before, and that usual mix of pine and cinnamon that never fails to remind him of winter, of Arya, but mostly she smells like him, and the revelation leaves him nearly lightheaded. 

“Suddenly, I can’t remember a single other one.” 

He finally says, or more like whispers right into the shell of her ear. The very un-lady like snort Arya lets out clears some of the haziness from his mind, but not for long. 

The heat reignites almost instantly as she drags her own hand up his naked torso and then settles along his bicep, tracing the skin with one elegant finger as she gazes appreciatively at him.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” 

He asks as his own thumb slides into the dip in her spine, taking a little bit of satisfaction in the subsequent arch of her back. 

“Ever thought of getting a tattoo?” 

It’s his turn to snort. 

“What like a stag or something?” 

He’s not sure why that particular idea comes to mind but he doesn’t give it a second thought, at least not until Arya leans slightly back to give him a pointed stare. 

“A stag? Please. I thought we talked about this.” She rolls her eyes as her palm slides from his bicep to settle on his chest. 

“You’re much more bullish than you are anything else; and I bet you’d look sexy as hell with a bull tattooed right here.” 

She taps her finger against his left pec, right below where his heart is starting to pick up its pace beneath her touch and under the weight of her gaze. Try as he might, Gendry can’t control the bolt of heat that goes straight to his core, leaving seemingly his entire body buzzing with anticipation. 

He doesn’t have an appropriate response. Nothing that would match her sharp wit when half his blood supply has quickly trickled south, so he doesn’t even try. He uses the hand on her lower back to draw her in until she’s flush against him, soft breasts smashed against his hard chest, pebbled nipples pressing into his skin while her face is mere inches away from his. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmurs right against her lips – one look exchanged between them – before he captures her mouth. 

Arya doesn’t waste any time, throwing her leg over his hip – and the sudden press of her warm, wet heat right on him, right where he’s already swelling again forces Gendry to pull apart. 

A mutual groan flits into the space between them as he takes a second to admire her.

The sight of her like this, lips swollen from his kisses, expression a little wild, a little dazed; and so open and wanting right here, right next to him pushes the words out of him before he can stop them.

“This is never going to get old, is it?” 

Arya’s eyes widen, whether from his question or from how his hand cradles her cheek, Gendry can’t be sure. He finds that he doesn’t care much, especially not when her fingers tangle more firmly with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I hope not.”

Her response is nothing more than a breathless exhale, but it hits him square in the chest, twining around his heart, and leaving him helpless against the surge of emotion that eclipses everything around him. 

Everything but the woman pressed so deliciously into his side.

Arya’s mouth is on his before he can formulate another coherent thought, and then he’s lost.

Absolutely lost both in the feel of her skin and in how determinedly she kisses him, claiming him with an insistent tongue that reduces him to a mess of reactions that only she’s really capable of drawing from him. 

He’s so distracted he doesn’t even realize that she’s pushed him onto his back, and that her hand is now sliding down his body, blunt fingernails scratching against the faint trail of hair that disappears under the covers, and then – 

“_Arya._” 

She hovers over him, gaze and body unmoving safe for the motion of her arm as she starts to stroke him in that confident, self-assured way that makes it impossible for Gendry not to thrust almost immediately into her hand. 

Even after spending half his night getting lost in the soft plains of her skin,, he still can’t get enough of her; enough of her eyes blown wide with desire, lip pulled in between her teeth as she works to completely unravel him. 

The impulse to tell her so is more present than it has ever been before.  
“You’re absolutely gorgeous, you know that?” 

“You’re just saying that because I have my hand on your cock.” 

He’s not at all surprised that she deflects, her words thinning whatever tether he has on his self-control. When Arya twists her hand, eliciting another groan from him, Gendry finds himself suddenly more concerned with proving her wrong. 

He reaches up to tilt her head closer to him. 

“Do you really think so?” 

She stays put for just a moment, and then she’s leaning into him, lips a hairsbreadth away from his as she fixes him with a gaze just this side of inappropriate.

“No, but I think it helps.” 

And then she decides that they’re done talking. 

Gendry has absolutely no problem with that. Besides, when Arya leans down to kiss him again right as she swipes her thumb over the tip of his cock, he doesn’t think he could utter another coherent word anyway. 

He groans his approval right into her mouth, finally remembering that he’s free to touch her too. When he wraps his arm around her waist to draw her closer, Arya resists, breaking their kiss to drag her lips along the column of his neck until she reaches his pulse point. She stays there, nipping and sucking at his skin, continuing to drive him closer to oblivion. 

Unable to help himself, he thrusts up into her hand just as his own tangles in her hair, urging her to look up. 

“Gods, you’re driving me mad.” 

They lock eyes for just a moment, just long enough for Arya to smile softly.

“That makes two of us.” 

Then she’s kissing down his chest, the scrape of her teeth deliberate and distracting enough that Gendry doesn’t even feel the cold air hit his skin when she throws the covers off completely and takes him into her mouth. 

And he thinks he may never feel cold again, not with the complete explosion of fire that seems to fan across his entire body as Arya takes him all the way in, lips brushing against the fingers wrapped so perfectly around him. 

He’s barely adjusted to the sensation before her tongue darts out to swirl expertly around him and his mind draws a complete blank as Arya starts to lick and suck at him in earnest. 

He tries to keep his eyes open but it’s near impossible. Not when Arya knows exactly what she’s doing; keeping the pressure steady and perfect; giving him absolutely no quarter against the tension building so quickly in all his muscles. 

Gendry’s well aware that he’s not staying too quiet, curses he’d normally bite down spilling out of him with every bit of pleasure she manages to wrench from him, but it’s kind of hard to worry about any of that. Especially when he finally pries his eyes open to find her perched at his side, gloriously cover-free and absolutely within reach. 

The single beam of sunlight continues to dance across her bare skin. He can’t resist chasing it with his fingertips – down her spine, along her hip until he reaches the soft swell of her backside. 

He doesn’t stop there, curling around her leg and delving into the wet heat he finds with ease. The second his fingers dip into her, Arya lurches forward, breasts pressing into his thigh as she moans low and heavy around him. 

Gendry feels the vibration instantly, balls tightening as he’s suddenly reminded that he’s still very much at her mercy, and yet he refuses to pull away, not when he feels just how absolutely wet she is for him. 

The revelation only adds to his sudden desperation to make her feel even a fraction of the mind-numbing euphoria he’s feeling now and he slides two fingers in, reveling in how Arya immediately pushes back on them. 

She doesn’t stop what she’s doing, but her rhythm falters just enough for Gendry to think that maybe, just maybe, he can get her to the edge too. At this angle, he can’t reach her clit but maybe if he twists his fingers just so; maybe if he finds that spot inside her that pulls the most delicious sounds from her, maybe he can even gain a little bit of an upper hand… 

But he’s a fool for even thinking they were on the same playing field let alone in the same league. 

After just a few more strokes of his fingers, Arya turns her head to look at him, eyes determined yet playful, as she takes nearly all of him in at the same time as her hand slips down to stroke his balls, and Gendry is absolutely fucking gone. 

His entire body tenses up suddenly and then it’s a snap of euphoria and heat spreading like wildfire through his veins. Flashes of white explode beneath his eyelids as the release shudders through him.

His fingers slip shakily out of her, digging into her thigh for leverage. He hears Arya’s faint moan of protest, but it’s barely there, edged entirely out by the sound of his own heartbeat in his throat and movement of her mouth as she licks him clean, sending little aftershocks of heat through him. 

One by one, his muscles begin to uncoil until he’s left feeling nearly boneless, like he might just sink into this bed and never get up. 

The only thing that prevents Gendry from doing so is the remnants of wetness on his fingers and the proximity of Arya’s warm skin, so damn close to him and already sparking urgency, even his post-orgasmic haze. 

When she finally releases him, wiping the corner of her mouth and smiling almost smugly at him, Gendry’s momentarily sidetracked. It’s not the first time, she’s been so unabashedly naked and wanting in front of him, but there’s something different about all of this.

It’s not the light flush on her cheeks or the sight of her breasts littered with markings of his lips and his teeth or even the absolute mess of dark curls framing her face that leaves him momentarily awestruck. 

It’s the look in her eye, that unguarded and completely open gaze that tells him everything that he needs to know – and everything that leaves him overwhelmed in a way that has nothing to do with the mind numbing orgasm she’s just given him. 

Both leave him equally as distracted and he nearly misses when Arya turns to make her way off the bed. 

He catches her by the ankle, drawing her back until she’s on her knees by his side again. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

His fingers run up the inside of her thigh, stopping just short of where they both want them. 

Though Arya’s eyes darken at his teasing, there’s still a touch of feigned innocence when she speaks. 

“Something the matter, sir?” 

A whole slew of possibilities rush through him at the subservient edge to her tone, but Gendry files it away for later, much more interested in making her as weak and shaky as she’d just made him. 

“Not at all, but I’d like to cash in on my ‘later’ now.” 

One expressive eyebrow quirks in confusion, but Gendry doesn’t bother explaining, sliding down the bed instead and maneuvering Arya over him until she’s straddling his chest. 

Recognition spills into her gray eyes then but he doesn’t give her any time to react with anything other than a simple, “oh” as his hands travel briefly up her waist to cup her breasts. 

He circles both nipples, rolling, pinching, tugging; drawing a moan from her. Then a gasp as he drops his hold to her hips, guiding her further up until her thighs are firmly bracketing his head. 

And then Gendry thinks he might be the incoherent one again when Arya shifts more comfortably on top of him, and with a half smirk, sinks down until all he can see, smell and touch is her. 

The scent alone makes him lightheaded, but when his tongue darts out to taste her and Arya grinds right into his mouth, a tremor rushing through her thighs, he thinks he’s the stupidest man alive for not doing this sooner. 

Arya seems to agree, spreading her legs even wider as she grabs onto the headboard, and then she’s peering down at him with a mix of desperation and impatience. 

Without much thought, his fingers dig into the soft flesh of her ass as his lips wrap around her clit and he runs his tongue deliberately along her slippery flesh. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, _Gendry._” 

If his mouth wasn’t so full of her, he’d tell her how good she tastes, how much he loves the feel of her trembling thighs pressing into him for both sides. 

He works to show her instead, tongue slipping from her clit to dive right inside her; going as deep as he can and licking along the same walls that tightened so deliciously around his cock just hours prior. 

Each pass of his tongue makes her hips jerk forward, his nose bumping her clit. Gendry doesn’t stop her, hands leaving her ass to circle around her waist and brush the undersides of her breasts. 

He’s not even aware that he’d shut his eyes at one point until he feels Arya grab a hold of one of his hands, fingers interlacing as she pushes them up higher on her chest. 

He takes the cue, thumb extending to brush against her nipple, once, twice, three times, and then she’s tilting her head back and her hips start circling above him, trying to find that perfect friction that will unravel her completely.  
Gendry continues to press into her, tongue now delving in and out at a more frantic pace but no less attentive. He watches as she responds to his every move, body starting to shake in earnest as she leans further into the headboard, hair falling to frame her flushed cheeks. 

The sight of her is damn near mesmerizing, incoherent pleas cutting through the nearly obscene sounds their bodies make together as she rides his face. The need to watch her let go only grows stronger with every second that she grinds against him, her hand holding his wrist in a death grip as he continues to tease her nipple.

The hand on her hip slips back to her ass, insistent fingertips digging in and taking root as she keeps circling her hips. 

And even though his eyes are laser focused on her, mind in absolute disarray and awe over the image she paints – so deep into her pleasure, pleasure he’s responsible for – Gendry is still caught off guard when Arya jerks unexpectedly, body going taught as a bow string a second before tremors dissolve her into a shaking mess. 

It feels like she’s unraveling all around him, over him, next to him, everywhere, and he’s absolutely lost in the sensation. In the clench of her sweet, warm cunt around his tongue, the near painful way she squeezes his wrist, the tension in her muscles but most importantly, in the loud groans that spill out of her as she pants through her release.

Gendry has half the mind to tell her to stay quiet but even when Arya raises up over him, undoubtedly too sensitive now to keep contact with his eager mouth, he says nothing. He drops kisses to her heated skin instead, holding her in place as she tries to catch her breath. 

“You’ve been holding out on me.” 

She’s still perched over him as she says this, voice still a bit shaky but there’s a startling clarity in her silver gaze, and it wraps around him in much the same way she was wrapped around him just now. 

“My apologies, milady.” He replies with a soft smile and rubs the side of his scruffed cheek against the inside of her thigh. 

The tremor that runs through her at the motion sends a jolt of heat straight to his cock. Gendry ignores it in favor of pulling her further down his body until she’s draped completely over him, resting her chin on his chest. 

“I had all this intention of sneaking downstairs and finding both of us coffee but now I can barely move.” 

“Coffee can wait.” 

He tells her with all the earnestness that’s swimming through him as he gazes down at her and tucks a few damp strands of hair behind her ear. 

“I think it’ll have to,” she responds with a half smirk, and then she’s leaning up to kiss him, making sure to run her tongue right along where her essence still lingers, and all of Gendry’s careful restraint snaps. 

Arya lets out a yelp as he flips them over, but her legs spread open almost as if on instinct, welcoming him into the cradle of her hips as he settles between them.

“I’ve no objections to that,” he whispers against her lips, gazing down on her as he presses into her, reminding them both that she’s still so very capable of making him come alive no matter how many times he’s been inside her.

The smile on her face nearly borders on a leer but he’s too distracted by the path of her hand as it slithers between their bodies to guide him inside her, half-hard already. 

“Me neither.” She whispers as she arches her hips up against him.

And then Gendry stops thinking altogether. 

xxx

They find coffee eventually, making their way downstairs after quick - and much to Gendry’s disappointment – separate showers. 

The smell of caffeine mixes in nicely with the herbal scent of Arya’s shampoo, and he presses his nose further into her damp hair, inhaling deeply. 

She’s perched on the counter, right by the coffee maker, with him happily situated between her legs. When he pulls away, he doesn’t go very far, still standing close enough to feel her breath on his cheek and count the flecks of silver in her magnetic gaze. 

It’s how he manages to spot the faint smudge of black liner in the corner of her right eye. 

“You missed just a little bit right here.”

He reaches out to wipe it with his thumb and feels the raise of her cheek as Arya smiles amusingly at him. 

“That was just an excuse to touch me.”

Gendry can’t help the smirk that pulls at his mouth as he leans back in, palms gliding up her thighs as he drops a kiss to the spot his thumb just vacated. 

“Believe me, I wouldn’t use an excuse to touch you on _that_.”

Despite the flash of something like heat in her eyes, Arya juts her chin out and peers at him defiantly. 

“Oh ya? What would you use it on?”

He answers by cupping her jaw and pulling her into a kiss. 

She responds immediately, arms sliding around his middle as he coaxes her lips open with his tongue, and for a few beautiful moments it’s just the two of them. 

Just him and Arya, her hands fisting his shirt, skin warm and soft beneath his fingertips as she kisses him back with equal fervor. 

And Gendry’s more than happy to stay like this, wrapped up in her, in _them_ until the coffee brews or maybe even after that. 

But suddenly there’s the sharp clearing of a throat and he nearly groans when Arya pulls away from him. 

She doesn’t go far; merely peers over his shoulder at whomever has decided to interrupt them. 

And though the sight of Arya with lips swollen from his kisses and a look of utter contentment on her face is the only thing he wants to look at, he reluctantly turns around. 

“Good morning.”

Sansa greets them both from where she stands in the kitchen entryway. Her gaze drops down to where Arya still has her arms draped loosely around his waist and Gendry swears a flash of guilt passes along her face as she makes her way over to the kitchen table. 

“’Morning,” he mumbles quietly at the same time as Arya says, “hey,” and then he can feel her eyes on him. 

She’s astute as it is but it would be impossible not to pick up on the tension that’s suddenly filled the room.

He hasn’t really seen or spoken to Sansa since their terse conversation in the nursery. Although he knew that this wouldn’t simply blow over without them having words about it, some part of him – probably the same that wanted to spend his day in bed with Arya – had hoped that maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal. 

The last few minutes, paired with Sansa’s obviously subdued attitude, have proven him very wrong.

He turns to address Arya at the same time as she extends a mug of coffee towards him, and he can’t help the smile that falls on his face as he accepts it, making sure his fingers brush against her knuckles in the process. 

“Thanks.”

He can see the wheels in Arya’s head turning as her gaze flickers between him and Sansa, and so he’s not remotely surprised when a second later, she breaks the silence in the room. 

“I’m going to go see what Bran is up to. I assume the politician has arisen?”

Sansa looks up from where she’d been reading something on her phone and nods. 

“Oh yeah, he and Pod are in the living room. They’re supposed to come help me with breakfast but apparently a discussion of this year’s rugby championship roster is more important.” 

The explanation is accompanied with a subtle eyeroll and it helps to ease at least a fraction of the tension Gendry’s feeling. Despite the circumstance, he’s never liked seeing his best friend with low spirits, and the revelation spurs him into action. 

“I can do it.”

It’s clear that Sansa is surprised by his offer, while Arya sends him an approving look over the rim of her coffee cup. 

“Oh yeah, eggs are his specialty and all.” 

She smiles at him like she’s sharing a private joke with him, and his mind immediately goes back to the morning after she’d slept at his house when they’d shared a plate of eggs and toast standing at his kitchen counter and he fought the urge to kiss her the entire time. 

“I was going to make omelets so that works.”

The memory pulls him so deep under he nearly doesn’t hear Sansa, but the subdued tinge in her voice snaps him back to the present. 

“Cool, you guys do that and I’ll go wrangle the troops.” 

Arya doesn’t waste any time, leaning up to kiss his cheek before walking out of the kitchen, and Gendry finds himself staring at the space she’d just vacated until he hears the scrape of the chair signaling that Sansa is about to get up. 

A wave of affection washes over him as her prominent belly comes into view, and he lifts his hand up, halting her in place.

“Why don’t I take care of breakfast and you have some tea?” He nods to the kettle on the stove and some of the guard lifts from Sansa’s expression as she smiles wryly at him and nods. 

“Okay, if you insist.” 

She sits back down, hand dropping to press into her back as she tries to hide her grimace, but Gendry notices. 

“Did that pregnancy pillow Bella recommended work out?” He asks while rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and dropping his cufflinks in his pockets. 

“Yeah it did actually, but I think I’m just going to have to accept that my back is going to be sore for the remainder of this pregnancy.” 

“At least it’s a matter of weeks now, not months, right?”

“Right,” Sansa nods but says nothing else, and it becomes evident that they’ve run out of small talk. 

As soon as the kettle fills up with water and he sets it on the stove to boil, Gendry rounds the kitchen island and drops into the chair opposite Sansa. He’s just mentally formulated what he’s going to say when she beats him to it.

“I’m sorry.”

He’s not so much surprised by the apology as he is by the guilt that Sansa doesn’t bother concealing as she meets his gaze. 

“I should have never said what I said,” she leans forward as best she can, body language mirroring the sincerity in her tone.

“Of course you’re family. How could I even imply that you weren’t?” 

The way she looks at him like she wants to imprint the words onto his brain is so reminiscent of Arya when she’s trying to prove a point that any true real guard Gendry may have had up breaks down before he can stop it. 

“It’s really fine, Sansa. I-“ 

“No, it’s not.” 

And he shuts up, because it’s evident that she has more to say. 

“I feel like I put you in an impossible situation. Sometimes, I think it might have been for the best if I never told you anything and that way you could – “ 

But there’s no way she could have predicted this situation. She can’t control everything, and he decides to tell her so. 

“Sansa, that’s ridiculous. You couldn’t have known that Arya would come, that all of this –“ and he’s not sure what he means by _this,_ but Sansa seems to be getting it, “would happen, and I am glad you told me. I’m glad I was able to be there for you, because you’ve been there for me but it’s just –“ 

And that’s where he halts, words pausing in his throat as if he’s a car that’s run out of steam. 

Because there’s only really one major reason why everything is so different now, why he’d run so low on patience with Sansa before and why he desperately wants everything out in the open and – 

“It’s Arya.” 

At first, Gendry thinks he might’ve said it out loud, but then he catches the flicker of understanding that broaches Sansa’s carefully stoic expression and he knows he hadn’t spoken at all. 

That she’d been the one to put his poorly kept secret out into the open. 

It pulls him back to their last conversation about this. And to the image of Arya last night, silver eyes peering down at him in wonder as he told her how tired he was of hiding his feelings, of pretending…

And now in the stark light of morning, he still doesn’t. 

“Yeah, it is Arya, and it always has been.”

It’s almost physically relieving to say it. To lean back in his chair and utter the words that have been sitting inside him for months; ever since he’d unlocked the box he’d kept them in when he’d taken one look at Arya and decided he couldn’t _not_ be her new year’s kiss. 

Things had shifted for him that night, and they’ve continued to shift ever since, drawing him closer and closer to the future he wanted. To the future he and Arya both deserved after everything they’d gone through both separately and together.

“Well, I’m glad you finally admitted it.” 

Gendry looks up from where he’d had his eyes trained on the table between them to find that Sansa’s façade has been completely stripped down in favor of a smile. It’s still rueful somehow and it takes Gendry right back to what they’d been discussing, and the fact that Sansa is important to him too.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not on your side, or anything like that. It’s just means that Arya is –“ 

“Your priority.” 

“Yeah.” 

It feels almost like a stalemate between them until Sansa’s gaze drops to her belly, her hand instinctively curving over the growing mound and Gendry already knows what she’s going to say.

“And my baby is mine.” 

He doesn’t hear it like a threat, and he’s certain it’s not meant to be taken as one. 

But once again, he sees traces of the Stark sigil in his best friend. That fierceness and protectiveness that he’s glimpsed over the years – though never directed specifically at him. 

“You’re going to be a great mom.”

It’s obviously not what Sansa expects to hear, but her expression softens anyway, into something familiar to Gendry. Something he’s seen on his sisters’ faces when they’ve talked about their kids. 

“And you’ll make an exceptional uncle.” 

“I’ve had practice.” 

And there it is. 

The thing neither of them has acknowledged for a long time now. 

That while he’s been in Winterfell for nearly a year and had come because Sansa had asked him to – because that’s what you do for friends turned family – he still has his own family waiting for him in Storm’s End. And at the Vale where Mya and her husband and kids are, and even wherever Edric is galivanting these days.

The point is that Gendry has people who he can rely on. People who will push him and piss him off at times; who might be just as stubborn given the blood they share but who will also there for him no matter what. 

This reassurance, the inadvertent reminder that Arya was right – that he’s not just a bastard from Fleabottom anymore – and hasn’t been for a long time – settles Gendry in a way that he wasn’t prepared for. 

It also seeps some of the fight out of him. 

When he locks eyes with Sansa again, he can tell she’s thinking the same thing. He doesn’t know what to make of the sadness in her eyes, so he focuses on her smile instead. The fondness there gives him just a little bit of hope that everything is going to work out for all of them.

For her, and for him, for all of them, but most importantly for the baby. 

His gaze flickers down to her belly again, a question on the tip of his tongue about how she’s been feeling, but the kettle whistles at that exact moment, and then Gendry’s getting up to make the shrill sound stop. 

By the time he’s taken the kettle off the burner, Sansa has already gotten up and is making her way over to the refrigerator.

He watches her retrieve the necessary ingredients for breakfast, and then she hands him a bunch of vegetables, instructing him to wash and chop. 

Gendry does but not before taking the opportunity to tell her what he should have earlier. 

“Apology accepted by the way.” 

And maybe it’s the accidental snark in his tone or just that she doesn’t expect it, but Sansa’s lips curve upward as relief washes over her face. 

Though technically nothing’s really been resolved, for the time being it’s enough. 

xxx

The doorbell jolts Gendry into wakefulness some time that evening. He sits up instantly, squinting against the glare the TV casts in the otherwise dark living room, and realizing pretty quickly that he must’ve passed out on the couch. 

He’s barely rubbed the sleep from his eyes the next doorbell sounds. This time, it’s followed by an incessant knocking, which only makes him smile. 

There’s really only one person who would be so insistent, and the realization spurs him to turn the TV off and make his way quickly through the house to let her in. 

Opening the door to the outside brings with it a rush of cold, but he doesn’t even notice, attention entirely stolen by Arya practically bouncing on her heels, eyebrows knitted and lips pressed into a firm line. 

Her entire face seems to relax when she lays eyes on him, and then her expression changes into something almost amused as she looks him up and down. 

“Definitely too old to stay up all night.”

One look at the time display on the microwave, and Gendry doesn’t bother arguing with her assessment. Apparently, all he’s done since he came home that afternoon was change his clothes and put on a sports program that eventually lulled him into a three-hour nap. 

Arya doesn’t seem all that fazed by it. She breezes passed him to the kitchen, carrying the scent of winter with her, but still managing to make Gendry feel warm all the same.

“What’s all this?” He asks instead as he crosses the span of the foyer to join her in the kitchen, where she’s busy sorting through two grocery bags. 

Arya pauses in the midst of pulling an onion out of the bag, a shy smile adding color to her already wind-blown cheeks. 

“You always cook when I come over. I figured it was finally my turn. Is that okay?” 

The uncertainty in her tone lifts whatever vestiges of sleep were still weighing him down and he can’t resist sliding his arm inside her unzipped jacket and around her waist as he smiles and nods. 

“It’s more than okay.” 

The way Arya immediately relaxes against him makes not want to let her go, even as he feels the first stirrings of actual hunger inside him. 

“I’d be a fool to say no to you.” 

He whispers this into her hair before loosening his grip on her and is not the least bit surprised when Arya barely contains the urge to roll her eyes as she returns to her task. 

“Sappy.” 

“Honest.” 

She shoots him a side glance then, ready to brush him off again, but whatever’s in his eyes must give her pause. She pivots completely into his arms, both hands now sliding up his chest and around his neck as she holds his gaze. 

Gendry takes the opportunity to study her face. To trace the delicate bridge of her nose, the soft roundness of her cheeks, the dark lashes framing her distinct gray eyes, and those expressive eyebrows that have always revealed exactly what she’s thinking.

It dawns on him then that with all the time they’d spent talking the night before and this morning, they had yet to address the confessions they’d made before losing themselves in each other.

And though it’s not even been a day, some part of him – the same one that’s well aware of what a lack of communication has done to their relationship in the past – feels compelled not to repeat the same mistake. 

“I meant what I said last night,” he tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and lets his fingers linger on her skin, “I’m tired of running from my feelings. I want it all. With you. Which means you can come over and cook for me any time you want.”

Arya watches him with rapt attention, unmoving safe for the rise and fall of her chest. Her skin flushes warm where he’s touching her and it gives Gendry all the reassurance he needs to lean down and kiss her.

She meets him halfway, lips opening up and tongue darting out to skim his in a way that makes Gendry want to push her jacket off and see if this side of the kitchen counter will elicit the same sounds from her as the other has in the past. 

He keeps it controlled, realizing that for once, he doesn’t have to rush.

That there’ll be time for that – and so much more – later. That for now, he can take comfort in her warmth and the taste of her and the knowledge that she isn’t going anywhere. 

Arya hasn’t said anything yet but she kisses him eagerly, balanced on the tips of her toes as she leans all of her weight on him.

It tells Gendry everything he needs to know and he moves to deepen their embrace, his other arm snaking around her middle and pulling her flush against him. 

The sounds of his stomach growling eventually forces them apart, and Arya’s quiet chuckle fills the silence as she gazes up at him. 

“We’d better get a move on then. I’d be a terrible girlfriend if I left you both sleep deprived and starving.” 

She doesn’t linger after that, dropping a quick kiss to his cheek and returning to unloading groceries, but Gendry stays rooted to his spot by the counter. 

Watching Arya – _his girlfriend_ – move so effortlessly around his kitchen confirms that which he’d already known to be true, even before this morning when he’d asked her.

This really was never going to get old. 

And that’s absolutely fine by him.

xxx


	19. not enough time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know my sister.” 
> 
> There’s no question which sister Bran is referring to, and Gendry doesn’t bother clarifying.
> 
> “It might take some time for her to adjust to this, but she’s not going to let this overshadow everything else.”
> 
> “You sure about that?” 
> 
> Bran opens his mouth to respond, but never gets a chance to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaack and it didn't take a whole 3 months to update - yay! Huge, huge thank you to everyone who is still reading and those taking the time to leave comments, kudos, and bookmarks. This story is near & dear to my heart, and I'm so glad my muse woke up long enough to write this chapter. 
> 
> As always, I own absolutely nothing. Title inspired by an INXS song of the same name. This is another Gendry POV...because he, too, is near & dear to my heart. 
> 
> Please enjoy xoxo.

The morning of Sansa’s baby shower, Gendry wakes up alone. 

It’s the first time in over a week that his bed is empty, but he doesn’t mind – not when the scent of Arya still lingers on the pillow next to him and the space besides him looks so slept in. 

The house is quiet though, which is not what he was expecting since they’d agreed to leave together today. He rolls over to try and find his phone to call her, when something crumbles under his cheek.

He unfurls the wrinkled piece of paper and feels an abiding sense of warmth at the familiar messy script. 

_Just bc I know it’ll take you forever to find your phone, I left a note. I went home. I’ll see you there later. xx_

Gendry doesn’t bother suppressing his laugh at how well she knows him and redoubles his efforts to locate his cell. 

When he finds it on the floor just a short distance away from his discarded jeans, his amusement turns a little self-indulgent as he remembers exactly how all his clothes ended up in a pile at the foot of the bed. 

He’s still thinking about it as he dials Arya’s number – about her cold, nimble fingers undoing his belt as her silver eyes shone unfairly vividly in the dimness of his bedroom. Eager mouth curving devilishly as she sank to her knees in front of him, and – 

“Morning sleepyhead.” 

Her voice suddenly filtering into his ear does nothing to relieve Gendry of the images swirling in his head, but he gives into it, smiling as he pulls on a pair of sweats. 

“Sleepyhead? It’s not even 8, when’d you leave?” 

“Not too long ago, I couldn’t sleep.” 

“You shoulda woken me up. I’d have gone with you like we planned.” 

“And miss the chance to watch you drool into your pillow some more? No chance. You looked too cute.” 

For once, he has a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, but it gets derailed when he enters the kitchen and picks up on the strong scent of caffeine already permeating the air. 

“You made me coffee.” 

He doesn’t bother concealing the affection that washes over him. It’s quickly compounded with a flush surging up his neck at Arya’s teasing tone. 

“I did, yeah. Figured you could use it after the late night we had.” 

He smirks at the innuendo in her tone, extracting a mug from his cupboard and pouring from the half-filled pot.

“How considerate of you.” 

“I’m very considerate,” Arya affirms with just the slightest exaggeration, before turning more serious. 

“It’s the least I can do for turning your living room into a Disney princess factory.” 

It’s true that his living room looks like the entirety of the Magic Kingdom threw up all over it, remnants of goodie bags, decorations, and game pieces strewn across it, but Gendry doesn’t mind; especially if it means more time spent with her. 

“It’s no bother, really, I’m happy to help.” 

He takes a sip of coffee and leans against the counter. 

“I know, but still figured you’d want a few hours to yourself before all the mayhem starts.” 

Her consideration warms him quite a bit more than the coffee does – as does her uncanny ability to refer to a baby shower as mayhem and get away with it. 

It makes him want to see her that much earlier. 

“I was actually going to grab a shower and come help.” 

“No, don’t. The only thing left to do is for the caterers to set up and Pod’s on it. I’m about to help Sansa get ready.” 

Mention of Sansa calls to mind his last conversation with the redhead. 

Though, they’d managed to reach some sort of stilted truce the morning after the fundraiser, this is also the longest they’ve gone without so much as a text exchanged between them. The very thought makes the coffee sour in Gendry’s gut, making him seriously consider taking Arya’s advice and showing up much later. 

“If you’re sure,” he tells her as casually as possible, trying to keep the disquiet out of his voice. 

“I’m sure. Now go do whatever it is you do when you’re alone. Brood, read, carve something. Whatever.”

Her comment pulls an unexpected laugh from him. It also reminds him of all the other mornings when he’s woken up with her wrapped around him. All the ways he’d worked to convince her that there was a benefit to staying in bed just a little while past the alarm. 

“The only thing I’ll be doing is thinking about how you robbed me of the opportunity to wake you up this morning.” 

The unmistakable hitch in her breath makes Gendry feel triumphant but it’s brief, as it always is when it comes to Arya. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to make it up to you.” 

“You better.” 

There’s a pause then, and just wondering what she might be thinking at this point sends another rush of heat through him. He’s almost glad when he hears a rustling on the other end. 

“Alright, I gotta go, but I’ll see you later?” 

“Yeah, you will.” 

He confirms and finds himself powerless against the pleasant warmth that makes his stomach lurch at the certainty that he will in fact get to see her later, and for as long as he wants in the foreseeable future. 

“And don’t forget, the theme means pastel colors, so don’t show up in your usual black, or gray, or blue.” 

“Maybe I’ll just grab one of the tiaras from the back up stash, how’s that?” 

The sound of Arya’s laughter, so unabashed and loud even through the phone, only makes that feeling in his chest expand.

“That works, you’ve got the jawline for it.” 

“Oh, do I?” he can’t help but flirt back, and her resounding agreement makes Gendry glad that she’s not standing in front of him. 

He’s certain if he could see her now, her smile, her eyes, that expressive eyebrow that’s always curved just slightly in amusement, he wouldn’t hold back the words that have been circling in the back of his head for weeks now. 

“I do have to go,” 

Her apologetic tone prompts Gendry to let her go without much protest, promising to find something appropriate to wear to a fairytale themed baby shower.

As soon as he sets the phone on the counter it vibrates again, signaling a new text notification. 

His face splits into a smile almost instantly when he realizes it’s a photo from Bella, of his two older nephews, with cheesy smiles on their faces. 

In what little he can see of the background, he recognizes the kitchen table in sister’s house. 

He’s still grinning, a flood of affection washing over him, when another photo pops up, this time of his youngest nephew, who has some mixture of baby food stuck to his face. 

His sister doesn’t follow the photos with any sort of caption, but Gendry knows it’s a peace offering of sorts. 

They haven’t spoken since the phone call that made it abundantly clear where she stood on the subject of him and Arya rekindling things. 

As warm as the photos make Gendry feel, his nephews smiling faces do nothing to stave of the anger that suddenly pricks his chest. 

This week with Arya has been nothing short of bliss, and he wants to hold onto this feeling for as long as possible. 

Except between having to face Sansa again and this uncomfortable impasse he’s reached with Bella, reality is encroaching and he can’t do anything to stop it. 

Before he can succumb to the aggression starting to simmer inside him, Gendry abandons the half full mug of coffee and goes in search of his running shoes, deciding that a run in the cool February air will be just what he needs before having to contend with the real world.

At least he hopes so. 

xxx

_It’s a rare clear day in the Stormlands. _

_Though the smell of approaching rain is unmistakable, the current lack of clouds reveals the seldom seen top of the tower that juts out proudly from the shoulder of the estate. _

_For once the sight of what Bella has previously referred to as a phallic monstrosity doesn’t inspire feelings of discomfort or irritation. _

_No, today the view just makes Gendry feel proud, because today marks the day that this estate becomes something else; something that isn’t sullied by the legacy his father left behind. _

_A safe place that he hopes will offer those with little hope a future, the kind of future Gendry himself might not have had were it not for kind people extending their hands to him. The kind of future his mother worked so tirelessly to give him. _

_It’s taken him a long time not to feel the sting of guilt at the revelation that he doesn’t even remember what she looked like anymore, not without revisiting the couple faded photos he has of her. As his eyes scan over the grounds to land on the large wooden sign he himself hammered into the ground, the memory of his mother is the clearest he’s had in years._

_That’s the primary reason he feels himself scowl as he watches his sister strike a beer bottle against the side of the sign. _

_“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”_

_“Oh I think it’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.” _

_The ever present whimsy in Bella’s blue eyes is front and center, making it very difficult for Gendry to remain annoyed at her. _

_He still manages to frown at her he accepts the bottle, watching as she repeats the same motion with another and comes to stand next to him. _

_“Cheers,” she clinks their bottles together before taking a lengthy sip and Gendry follows suit._

_They lapse into silence for a few moments, standing shoulder to shoulder at the foot of the winding path that leads to the entrance of what is now going to be a school. _

_It still hasn’t fully sunk in that the years they’ve spent working on this have finally come to fruition. That he was actually able to make something good of his tainted inheritance, while being able to honor his mother in the process. _

_Venturing a side glance at the woman besides him, one that shares both the shade of his eyes and his hair color, fills Gendry with gratitude. _

_He doubts very few business partners would be okay with him naming their school after his mother. _

_“Thanks for letting me do this.”_

_He gestures towards the sign with his beer._

_“It’s no skin off my back. Plus, you did put in more money than me.” _

_Bella nudges his shoulder playfully, and Gendry can’t help but smile at her. _

_She’s always had a knack for alleviating even the shittiest of his moods – just like someone he used to know, he thinks, before shoving the thought aside and looking back at the sign._

_“She’d be proud of you.” _

_For one, startling moment, he thinks she’s referring to the woman who has infiltrated his thoughts yet again, but that’s not possible, unless his sister is a mind reader, which he wouldn’t completely rule out. _

_In this case though, he’s aware that she’s referring to his mother, and he shrugs in response. _

_“I hope so.” _

_He expects Bella to let it go, but he knows that’s not her style. It never has been, and so he’s not the least bit surprised when she nudges him again, this time harder._

_“Will you stop that?” _

_“Stop what?” _

_“This moping around.” _

_“I’m not moping around, I just-“ _

_“You’re so moping around. You’re one frown away from what my 4 year old son now refers to as gumpy Gendy. If he were here, he’d tell ya the same thing.” _

_Mention of his nephew pulls a half smile from him, lightening some of his unease but not enough to completely erase it. It doesn’t seem like there’s a need to deny it anymore, not to Bella at least._

_“I just worry, is all.” _

_“About what?”_

_“About it all working out. What if the donors back out? What if the teachers don’t show up? What if there are no kids?” _

_It’s all the fears that have been plaguing him for weeks. The closer they’d gotten to the opening, the more he found himself lying awake at night unable to shake the anxiety spurred purely by the uncertainty that lay ahead. _

_He’d done a decent job ignoring his fears – probably to his therapist’s chagrin. _

_While he had manual labor to do, while there were finishing touches to put in the classrooms, on the exterior, contracts to review and approve, checks to deposit and cash – while all of that was happening, it was easy to shove the worry aside._

_Not as easy when he’s standing in front of the finished product and having a very difficult time picturing any of it working out how he intends. _

_Not when so many other things in his life had not gone according to plan. _

_“Gendry, look at me.” _

_And he does, albeit reluctantly, because a part of him doesn’t want to disappoint Bella. Doesn’t want her to see that the vestiges of anger that had been his driving force for so many years are still capable of immobilizing him on the spot; that he fears no matter how much time goes by, he’ll always fall back into old patterns. _

_“How long have we been planning this? How long have you been working on this?” _

_“Almost two years.”_

_He remembers the day they’d agreed to turn their father’s estate into something worthwhile, something that could change a lot of lives, and create opportunities they themselves never had. _

_It had been a wild, insane idea at the time, one conjured up after an extra one or two beers – just enough to have them shake on it. _

_“And how many sleepless nights have we both spent making sure we covered all our bases? Employed the right people? Called in the right favors?”_

_He knows where she’s going with this, knows that there’s a huge part of his fears that are irrational, that they’ve done all they can do to make this successful, still – _

_“I know what you’re saying but-“_

_“No buts,” _

_This time, his sister gives him no quarter, and when he finally looks up from the ground at her face, seeing the same fierce determination that he’s spotted in the mirror on occasion, Gendry knows she won’t let him wallow, no matter how hard he tries. _

_And though the tension in his shoulders is very much there, the anger he’d felt just moments ago seems to dissipate for the time being, and he finds himself genuinely smiling down at his sister. _

_“Okay, no buts, but –“ _

_It takes him only a second to realize what he’s said but Bella’s face is already alight with mirth. _

_“Fine.” _

_He gives up, deciding that it’s probably for the best not to argue with her, not when he’s so clearly not going to win. _

_“I just really want it to work out.” _

_“It will.” _

_Bella says quickly, assertively, and Gendry wishes he had half her confidence. _

_“How can you be so sure?” _

_This time, it takes her longer to answer and he tears his eyes away from the scenery to find her staring ahead in thought._

_“I’m not, but we’ll deal with whatever happens together.” _

_His sister – like him – rarely exposes her vulnerability, but in this moment, Gendry can see it clear as day; that she is probably just as terrified as he is, and yet, for whatever reason, it brings him just a bit of comfort, because what she says is true._

_They’re in this together; they have been since they were thrown into a room together with a bunch of stuffy lawyers and handed a check for an amount of money neither of them had ever seen in their lives. _

_And if they could deal with that and build something meaningful out of it, then whatever comes next, they could deal with it as well. _

_The thought releases the tension in his spine, letting his fist unfurl at his side as something else – much lighter – crosses his mind._

_“I thought you said no buts.” _

_His taunt is rewarded with an eye roll and a shove._

_“Oh shut the fuck up, Waters.” _

_“No dice, Rivers.” he nudges her right back, “you’re stuck with me.” _

_“Don’t I know it.” Bella mutters in response, but there’s not a trace of irritation in her voice. _

_Gendry throws an arm over his sister’s shoulder and squeezes her into his side._

_They stay like that until their beers are finished. _

xxx

Even without the dozens of cars crowding the Stark Manor driveway, Gendry would know the house is full of people. There’s a buzz in the air that he feels even from the interior of his truck. 

Blessedly, he finds a spot between two sleek sedans – no doubt owned by Sansa’s coworkers – and shuts off the engine. 

His early morning run hadn’t done much to ease his anxiety, but the promise of seeing Arya gives him the push to unsnap his seat belt and get out of the truck. The crunch of the snow underfoot is almost soothing as it guides him to the front door. 

A burst of warm air hits him square in the face as he enters the house. It’s just as chaotic inside as he expected. 

The pink and glittery motif spills into the foyer, balloons of different colors and shapes lining the stairway. 

There doesn’t seem to be an inch of space that’s not covered in some sort of Disney fairytale paraphernalia, reminding Gendry distinctly of the year he’d gone up to visit Mya and the twins for their birthday – the last time he’d been around so much pink. 

He finds a spot for his coat in the closets underneath the stairs and takes a second to look around. 

From his vantage point, he can see into the sitting room, and immediately spots Sansa with her back to him on the couch, surrounded by a few women he doesn’t recognize, and one he does, albeit vaguely. 

Yara Greyjoy sits perched on the arm of the sofa, a dainty glass of something light pink and bubbly in her firm grasp. The last time Gendry had seen her was at Theon’s memorial, nearly two years prior.

Her presence isn’t very surprising to him. Although Sansa rarely speaks of it, Gendry knows how much Theon meant to her, and it’s in her nature to stay in touch, to seek familial bonds in places others would abandon. 

It’s part of why he feels like absolute shit over the distance between them, but it really can’t be helped at this point. 

The rules have changed for him, and he won’t apologize for it. 

It’s likely what keeps him from striding into the sitting room and saying hello to her. Instead, Gendry finds his gaze drifting around, searching for a familiar pair of gray eyes. 

When he comes up short, he contemplates going in search of Arya, but the very idea of slipping into the crowd and having to interact with people keeps Gendry in place. 

He’s just turned his attention to the snack table when a voice behind him catches his attention. 

“Intimidating, isn’t it?” 

At first Gendry thinks Bran might be referring to his reticence to mingle with people, but the younger man makes it easy for him, nodding towards the extravagant spread of snacks in front of them. 

“No expenses spared, huh.” 

He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but Bran’s presence only exacerbates the unease Gendry feels. 

“A lot of people here.” 

Bran adds after a few beats of silence, and Gendry feels oddly like he’s being baited. The first thought that runs through his head is that the one person who really should be here isn’t. 

And call it his temper flaring up or maybe just his irritation at how suddenly out of place he feels here, but Gendry doesn’t think twice before swallowing the bite of a mini scone he’d shoved into his mouth to respond.

“Yeah. Too bad Jon couldn’t be here.” 

It’s the closest they have ever come to discussing the proverbial elephant in the room, but Bran doesn’t seem at all put off. 

“He’ll be here when it matters,” he replies without skipping a beat and the smoothness of it, the ambiguity causes Gendry to clench his jaw before meeting Bran’s dark gaze. 

“And it doesn’t matter now?” 

The blank expression that greets Gendry tells him that whatever the politician is about to say next will either catch him off guard or piss him off. 

It’s what keeps him from loosening his defensive stance, the rigidity in his shoulders throwing into contrast how calmly Bran folds his hands over his lap. 

“I know my sister.” 

There’s no question which sister Bran is referring to, and Gendry doesn’t bother clarifying.

“It might take some time for her to adjust to this, but she’s not going to let this overshadow everything else.”

“You sure about that?” 

Bran opens his mouth to respond, but never gets a chance to. 

Arya appears so suddenly in front of them, Gendry barely has a chance to steel himself for the sight of her, all rosy cheeks and shining eyes. 

“You made it,” she addresses him like her brother isn’t right there. 

“I did,” Gendry affirms before pressing a kiss into her hair; for once not caring that his affection is on display. 

There’s an energy buzzing through her that’s difficult to ignore – no doubt a remnant of excitement from pulling off what seems to be a pretty successful event for her sister. 

Thoughts of Sansa nick something inside him again and it must reflect instantly on his face. 

Arya shoots him a curious look, lips parting most likely to ask him what’s wrong, but Bran clears his throat right then and her expression shifts instantly. 

“I think Meera was looking for you.” 

It takes Gendry a second to realize Arya’s not actually talking to him.

“Oh is she?” Bran asks without hiding his amusement.

Arya nods without tearing her eyes from Gendry’s face. 

“Yup, I think she’s in the sitting room. I need some help so we’ll see you later.” 

And then she’s pulling Gendry away. 

He follows her without comment, letting her take him through the kitchen and down the flight of stairs that lead to the basement. 

“What do you need my help with?” He asks when they reach the bottom. 

“You’ll see.” 

Arya doesn’t stop, moving them briskly through the basement to a door that Gendry’s pretty sure leads to the seldom used wine cellar. 

As soon as they enter, he picks up on the musty smell in the room, a hint of damp wood and stale grapes permeating the air. That awareness gets sharply replaced by the scent of Arya’s perfume as she pushes him into the nearest wall and kisses him. 

Her lips are soft and familiar, but also very insistent, and the mere press of them instantly releases the tension that’s been coiled around him. He opens up for her without thought, inviting the gentle swipe of her tongue and the press of her body again.

A noise of recognition, or perhaps appreciation, flits out of him when Arya’s fingers loop into his belt, and the grin he feels against his mouth lights a fire under him. 

Judging by how little she protests, Arya doesn’t seem to mind when Gendry turns them around until she’s the one trapped between him and the brick. 

“This what you brought me down here for?” He asks teasingly as he towers over her.

His eyes have barely adjusted but it’s enough to see the angles of her face, track the flush sprouting from the collar of her shirt, catch the way her mouth raises subtly enough to make his cock twitch. 

“Finally, he gets it.” 

There’s a smoothness to her tone, but also a sharp intake of breath when he skims the side of her breast, and Gendry revels in it. 

He kisses her this time, tilting her jaw for a better angle, and wedging his leg between hers, just enough to create the kind of friction he can tell she’s already desperate for. 

His hand drops to her waist, feeling for skin, and that’s when he finally notices what she’s wearing. 

He’d been far too swept up in her earlier to notice the hot pink leopard print skirt sitting high on her waist, so at odds with the plain black tee tucked into it. 

His eyebrow shifts up as he levels a gaze at her, but Arya merely shrugs. 

“What? This is the only pink thing I own.” 

And she might be full of it, but Gendry doesn’t care very much. His attention gets diverted entirely when he tugs the pleather material up higher and finds that the sheer fabric of her tights comes to a laced-trimmed end somewhere at mid-thigh. 

He suddenly wishes it wasn’t so dark in this windowless room, just so he can see the indent of the stocking clasp on her pale skin, trace the faint marks he’d left there with his teeth the night before. 

The memory is heady and his throat is dry as he presses his thumb into the taut material. 

“What’s this?”

“This is me making it up to you,” Arya’s breath bounces feverishly off his throat, “and we’ve got maybe 15 minutes until someone comes looking for me so -“

She finishes her sentence with a firm grasp on his wrist and the shove of his hand up to where she wants it. 

_Fuck._

The lace beneath his touch is indisputably damp. He drags his knuckles purposefully against it, but doesn’t linger, curling two fingers beneath the fabric and pushing knuckle deep in. 

“You think I won’t be able to get you off in that time?” He asks as she flutters around him.

“I’m counting on it.”

She arches her hips purposefully, heavy breaths escaping her lips as she chases his touch. The surge of pride – a rush ramping up his own need – makes Gendry feel a bit dizzy or maybe high or both. 

Either way, the stroke of his fingers gets more insistent, sliding out of her heat to work around her clit; and it’s his turn to groan when Arya loops her leg around the back of his calf, thigh pressing right against the length of him. 

“Twice,” he grunts into the hollow of her throat, teeth scraping against her pulse point.

“What?” 

Gendry pulls back just enough to meet her wide eyes, just enough to watch her reaction as he eases his fingers back in, his thumb picking up where they left off. 

“I’m gonna get you off twice, _at least_.” He promises against her lips and catches Arya’s next moan – her loudest one yet – with his mouth. 

xxx 

It might be 5 or 10 or even 20 minutes later when Gendry carefully sets Arya back on the ground. 

He doesn’t let her go far, bracing himself against the wall behind her as they both try to catch their breath. 

For all her threats about time, Arya seems just as reluctant to let him go, keeping him between cradled firmly between her legs. 

The vision of her, t-shirt slipping off one perfect shoulder, skirt still pushed up over her hips as her chest heaves sparks a low stirring in him again; a firm sign that no matter how many times he gets to be with her like this, it’ll never be enough. 

He separates from her while he still can, tucking his undershirt into his jeans and zipping them up. 

“Did you really plan this?” he asks in an effort to distract himself, “or was this a spur of the moment thing to get me away from your brother?” 

“Maybe a bit of both,” Arya shrugs easily, a satiated smile dancing on her face as she straightens out her skirt. 

But Gendry can tell her thoughts don’t end there, and he feels the rush of discomfort before she even asks. 

“You were kind of tense earlier though, everything okay?”

It hits him all at once then, how just the simplest show of concern can so easily fracture the front he’s gotten so bloody good at maintaining all this time.

His fingers find their way into his hair and he expels a sigh that seems to ricochet off the walls. 

“Gendry?” 

Arya reaches for him and her touch seems to both calm and suffocate him, because he knows he can’t tell her what’s really bothering him; can’t spill the secrets that aren’t his. 

And he hates himself a little bit for dampening the mood, for replacing the heat they built together with the chill of his thoughts. 

Gendry grabs her hand, bringing her knuckles up to his lips, and hoping against hope that it’ll be enough. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I’m an old man, remember?” 

Arya’s reaction is instantaneous – the curve of her brow, the lift of her swollen lips, the easy way she leans into him. 

And it’s all so painfully familiar, and so comforting, all Gendry wants to do is put everything out in the open, ensure there’s no confusion about where he stands with her and how he feels. 

“I’ll tell you what.” Arya’s voice pulls him back out of his thoughts, and he’s grateful for it. 

This is neither the time nor the place for any of the confessions sitting at the tip of his tongue – not if he can’t be completely honest with her about everything else. 

“Come mingle with me for a few minutes, talk to Sans, have some cake. Then if you slip away to the garage to sort through all that crap your guys left behind, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” 

And yet the hopeful edge to her tone does something to him, pulling at the thread that’s in danger of unspooling entirely. 

“Arya, I – “ 

“Can’t believe how generous I’m being considering you’re abandoning me with the Stepford wives of Winterfell up there? Yeah same, but you did just make good on your promise, so I’m willing to overlook it.” 

They both know that’s not what he was going to say, but Gendry lets the moment go, trying not to overanalyze why Arya would cut him off before he admitted to things that were already clear as day between them. 

“What would I do without you?” he muses into the crown of her head instead, trying to draw just the little bit of comfort from the scent of her, and the feel of her smooth skin still so very much within his reach. 

“You won’t have to find out.” 

He gets so lost in it, he almost doesn’t hear her response but when he looks down at her, she’s ever determined, and it hits him square in the chest. 

Not trusting his words, Gendry tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and leans down for a kiss, holding onto her conviction like a lifeline. 

xxx

Later on, he will wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t accidentally left his phone in the garage and decided to come back for it. 

Would Arya have tried to reach him? 

Would she have gone to his house? 

Or worse. 

Would she have done nothing at all, cutting him out like she had done so many years ago?

None of that matters to him now though. 

Instead as he drives through the gate and spots Arya rushing out of the house, Gendry’s first thought is that she isn’t wearing anything over the t-shirt and skirt combo that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from earlier. 

His second thought is more a flashback, a quick remembrance of how the faux leather felt – how _she_ felt – as he lifted her against the cellar wall. 

When Gendry catches a flash of auburn hair as Sansa steps onto the porch, clearly trying – and failing – to catch up to her sister, the heat from the memory evaporates as though it hadn’t been there at all. 

He quickly kills the engine and scrambles out of the truck; the pit in his stomach growing wider as he watches Arya spin around and shout something at her sister.

Over the wind and heavy crunch of snow beneath his boots, Gendry can’t quite make out what she says but there’s no mistaking her blatant anger and disappointment; nearly matched in intensity to the guilt and desperation on Sansa’s pale face. 

“What’s going on?” 

Without meaning to, he throws the question in Sansa’s direction because he knows, deep down he _knows_ what just happened. 

And perhaps that’s his biggest mistake – or maybe it’s that his tone is dripping with too much concern, too much familiarity – as if he’d expected it. 

He’ll wonder about that too in the ensuing weeks. 

In this moment though, all Gendry can think about, is that he somehow fucked up; somehow outed himself. 

As soon as the words spill out of him, Arya freezes, her calculating gaze the only thing moving as it jumps between him and Sansa. 

In the months since she’s been back, Gendry has seen a myriad of emotions on her slender face. He’s seen her laugh, he’s seen her cry, he’s seen her moan in ecstasy.

Yet the betrayal and disbelief shining so brightly in her eyes are new, a gray smoke signal against the sweeping whirl of snow and the sway of the trees.

“You knew.”

She says in nothing more than a whisper but it might as well be a screeching alarm for how deeply it jolts Gendry into action.

He moves towards her but Arya immediately holds up her hand, backing away before Gendry can get within arm’s reach. 

“Don’t,” she says more firmly this time, as she takes several steps back. 

Each one slices through him like a knife, but he doesn’t stop moving either.

“If you could just let us explain.” 

But it’s so obviously the wrong choice of words – _again._

“Us?” 

Arya’s tone finally reaches the same decibel again, incredulity dripping from it as she looks passed him at Sansa – Sansa, who he almost forgot was even there. 

Gendry doesn’t dare look anywhere other than Arya, and that’s how he knows what she’ll say before she even says it, can see it stark as day in how her expression turns eerily neutral and her back straightens out, a deceptively calm stance that only means retreat. 

“Why don’t you stay away from me instead.” 

Though he expected something like this, it doesn’t hurt any less when she juts out her chin and adds, “both of you,” before turning around and following the path into the Weirwood. 

There’s flicker of anger at how easily she walks away but it’s enough to paralyze him – enough to keep him rooted in place with his fists clenched and his jaw tight, as his mind tries to process the last ten minutes. 

He shuts his eyes, hoping it will somehow reverse the time, take him back to the moment in the cellar when he’d almost told he loved her – or better yet to months before, when he’d agreed to keep secrets that he knew would amount to nothing good in the end. 

The respite doesn’t do much of anything except maybe firm his resolve. When Sansa attempts to move passed him, his hand juts out to block her path. 

“No, I’ll go.” He tells her in a tone that’s clearly intimating that she’s done enough.

He doesn’t know how it all went down, or how much Arya even knows, but the damage has been done, and he wants – no _needs_ – to be the one who fixes it. 

Be the voice of reason for her like she has been for him. 

If that’s at all possible. 

“Get inside or you’ll freeze too,” he throws over his shoulder to Sansa.

Ignoring the sheen of tears in her eyes, he turns back to the woods and marches down the path Arya took just moments ago. 

The wind whips extra hard, as if trying to dissuade him from following her, but Gendry just jams his fists into his jacket and picks up his pace. 

The weather can go fuck itself. 

He’s not giving up that easily. 

xxx


End file.
